


Vengeance

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Drama, Gen, Revenge, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 22,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team.  Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe.  The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries.  Leverage International, Hardison’s dream, was now a reality.  Now, an old nemesis is back.</p><p>THIS STORY IS COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 

Credit for the AWESOME banner goes to Rofire9!

**SPENCER RESIDENCE, PORTLAND, OREGON**

Eliot Spencer normally slept, so he claimed, only ninety minutes a day. However, last night had involved a dinner date with a beautiful redhead followed by a soccer game, some heavy drinking and Eliot’s favorite dessert, a rumpled-sheet all-nighter. When the phone rang at six o'clock the next morning, he had been dead to the world for an unheard-of three hours straight. It had to be a wrong number or a damned solicitor. Ignoring it, he growled and burrowed deeper under the covers. The beautiful redhead lying at his side stirred slightly at the noise, rolled over and went back to sleep.

The phone continued jangling its insistent tone.

Eliot sighed and reached for the flat piece of technology he briefly considered hurling across the room. He dragged his finger across the screen and placed it to his ear. ‘Yeah,’ he said, groggily, keeping his eyes shut.

‘Still in bed? You’re gettin’ soft!’

‘Vance!’ Instantly alert, Eliot sat up and swung a leg out from beneath the covers. He flicked his long hair back out of his face. ‘Hey, son, how ya doin?’

‘Awake; dressed; at my desk being productive. And here you are, still in bed.’

'Well, hell, it’s…’ Eliot peered blearily at the clock, '…nine AM where you are. That is, if you’re still in DC.’

'That's affirm.'

'You’ve prob'ly had y’little breakfast with fruit and danish and a nice cup o'coffee,' Eliot jeered good-naturedly.

'What'd you have, Eliot, a blonde?'

'Naw, a redhead this time.' Eliot, grinning, eyed the soft form beneath his blanket. He ran a light hand over what he thought was her hip. She was sound asleep, lightly snoring.

'Ahhh,' Vance grinned knowingly. 'Listen, you seen the paper? It’s gotta be national news.'

'Vance, gimme a break, I just woke up. I don't even know where the fucking paper _is_. What.'

'Our _friend_ was released yesterday morning. The one my _favorite little dance team_ brought down some years back. Got ya shot up; I _know_ you remember that.'

Eliot pinched his top lip in concentration, thinking back over five years…then it hit him. 'No shit. You talkin' 'bout Udall? Terror by influenza? _That_ bastard?'

'The one and only.'

'Hell, Vance, he ain't been in lockup that long.'

'You tellin’ me? He's made nice all these years and then his shark-in-a-suit pulled a rabbit out of a hat.'

Eliot sighed. His expression was grim. 'Goddamn justice system.’

‘Y'got that right, brother.’

‘Ok, so, now what?'

'Well…as far as I can determine, he’s got nothing; just a toothless, homeless, declawed, neutered tomcat who's learned his lesson, fades away and dies…and the sooner the better.'

'I’d like to think that, too, but…' 

A pause ensued as both men considered the situation, nearly 3,000 miles apart.

'Yeah, I know, that _but_ is on both our minds. Just a warning, brother. Keep alert.'

'You too, Vance. Thanks for the heads up. And hey, next time you call…'

'I know, I know,' Vance chuckled. 'Later in the day. See ya, buddy.'

'See ya.'

Eliot set the phone down, grinning. It was always good to hear from Vance, even if it _was_ bad news. He ran a hand over the gnarled scar on his left thigh and glanced down at the second one on his right shoulder. They and all the other scars that peppered his body ached in cold weather but he tended to forget their origin. He hadn't thought of Udall in years. Old bastard.

He shook it all off. No sense worrying about trouble that hadn't happened yet; that might never happen. He wormed back beneath the covers and snuggled next to his redhead. She awoke, responding to his gentle touch. He set about changing the course of the way his day was starting out for the better.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-author of this chapter is Rowingmaiden. I dedicate this work to her.

**LEVERAGE HEADQUARTERS PORTLAND, OREGON**

Alec Hardison was in a blissful mood for a Monday morning. Pulling his scarf higher against the chilly breeze wafting through the parking garage, he keyed the locking mechanism on his car and all but danced up the sidewalk to the bar pub. The establishment was closed for the holidays; its usual hum of activity silenced. Hardison took the elevator to the top floor. He smiled to himself on the short trip upwards, remembering the wonderful weekend spent with Parker:

_A traveling carnival had set up in a neighboring town; its last stop before going to winter somewhere further south. In a coffee shop one day, Hardison saw a flyer which listed a particular attraction he knew Parker would like; he got a spectacular idea. That Friday, he had driven out to see the carnival owner._

_'Need a favor,' Hardison had said, 'I got a special lady. Want to surprise her. See this? I got it at a gas station. I'll give you fifty bucks to rig it for me and keep that wall clear until we get there Saturday night, and another fifty afterward. We got a deal?'_

_'Sure, buddy, but you give her this and I guarantee she's gonna cut your rope.'_

_'Trust me. It'll work.'_

_'Fine, it’s your ass.'_

_That Saturday night, all had gone smoothly. After they left the ferris wheel, Hardison casually suggested the rock climbing wall. Parker glanced up at its thirty-foot height and scoffed. 'A five-year-old could climb this.'_

_'Just my speed. Looks like fun,' said Hardison. 'C'mon.'_

_Parker looked at him scornfully._

_'Race ya to the top.'_

_Parker rolled her eyes. 'Oh, all right.'_

_They donned the rigging and began their ascent. Each had an attendant on the ground manning a safety line. Foot by foot, they made their way up the wall; Parker in the lead all the way. At the summit, a bell cord looped down. Parker pulled it - then did a double take, for the cord was looped through something shiny. Parker signaled her attendant to hold, set her feet and took the object off the cord. It was a plastic ring with a large, cut-glass stone. Tied to it with a bit of ribbon was a slip of paper on which was written, 'Love you, girl - marry me?'_

_Hardison heaved himself up to her level and hung there, his heart in his eyes. She looked at the patently fake ring in her hand then at him, then back at the ring in her hand and back at Hardison. A myriad of expressions crossed her face: quizzical confusion mixed with annoyance._

_'That one's a gag,' Hardison said softly. 'This one's a lot shinier.' He held out a three-carat diamond solitaire with shaking fingers. Parker's face lit up. She grabbed the ring and leaped into Hardison's arms. The attendants below were hard put to hold them both aloft._

_'Get off him! Get off him!!' one of them yelled. Parker never released Hardison until their feet touched the ground._

From the time the team had first come together, the idiosyncratic Parker had progressed very slowly in her feelings for Alec Hardison. She'd grown accustomed to the gentle, dark-skinned genius. She'd learned to like him. His persistence had paid off; they began cautiously dating from which grew intimacy (Parker typically described this as wanting pretzels).

Hardison's patience had at last been rewarded. While a date to marry had not yet been set, the ring was at least a solid declaration. If someday she wanted a piece of paper to validate it, fine. If not…he was happy with the situation as it was.

The elevator door opened.

'Hey!’ he called out, stepping briskly into the briefing room.

'In here,' Parker answered. She was perched on the counter in the kitchen next to the espresso machine, sipping coffee. She was wearing the ring, he noticed, holding her hand out in a dainty manner to admire it. Just as any woman would. Almost normal.

'Where's Eliot? We oughta get this show on the road.'

'What show? There hasn't been a client in weeks. I'm bored,' said Parker.

'Got just the thing if you're bored; look over there. And it’s your turn.’

Scattered where they had fallen through the mail slot in the door was an accumulation of envelopes, mailers and magazines.

'Cool!' said Parker enthusiastically. 'But I want to eat first.'

She hopped down from the counter, opened a cupboard to get a bowl and pulled a box of sweetened cereal from the pantry. Peeling a banana, she sliced it into the bowl and dropped in a handful of small strawberries. Sloshing a bit of milk over the mixture, she added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

Hardison watched her uneasily. 'You know, Babe, that much sugar really…isn't…good… for…’

Parker’s irritated frown brought Hardison’s remarks to a stuttering halt. He quickly segued into a greeting, for their Hitter had just walked in, blithely ignoring the pile of mail on the floor.

‘Hey, look what the cat dragged in,' said Hardison, grateful for the interruption; Parker-on-sugar could be dangerous.

Parker, chomping cereal, turned in her chair to greet Eliot, waving her spoon at him. He nodded at her and sauntered in, seemingly in a rare good mood himself.

Hardison grinned knowingly at Eliot. 'Yeah. Aw, yeah. Yo’ team won last night, didn’t it?’

‘Team? What team? Oh, _that_ team.' He shrugged. 'I guess they won; we left before halftime. Timbers versus Sounders, two and one last I heard…’

'Any money on 'em?'

'Not this time.'

'We, huh? Brunette, blonde or redhead?'

'Bald, Hardison! _Bald!!_ Jeez, you and Vance…living vicariously through me…'

'I ain’t living vicariously thru nobody, dude. I _got_ me a woman. Show him, Parker.'

Parker, still crunching cereal, awkwardly raised her hand aloft. Eliot took her hand and gazed at the incredible rock gracing her finger. 'You didn’t.'

'Damn sho did, bro'.'

 _ **'M'boy!!**_ Congratulations!' Eliot extended his hand for the usual slap-slap fist-bump they often shared. Eliot pecked Parker, who was trying to finish her cereal, on the cheek. 'Guys, that’s just fucking _awesome!_ So when’s the…'

'Aw, we ain't exactly set a date yet,' Hardison said. Parker, focused on breakfast, made no comment. Eliot, quick to pick up on the hint that talk of weddings should be avoided for the time being, let it drop. He tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. Football was on in a few minutes and everything was right with the world. While he waited, he poured a giant mug of coffee and sipped it appreciatively. 'Any calls come in? Anyone knocking down our door?'

'Might be…' Hardison tilted his head in the direction of the pile of mail by the door. ‘We’ll find out soon…’

Parker tilted her bowl and gulped the last of the sugared milk. 'I'm on it!' she said enthusiastically. Hardison shot a sidelong glance at her; sure enough, she was primed and off on a sugar high. Parker would be the fastest and most efficient member of the team for several hours, then crash and nap for the rest of the day. With a wry smile, he sat down at his computer.

Eliot set the bowl of fresh popcorn on the coffee table and sprawled on the couch. Football on Hardison's array of multiple screens was always a treat.


	3. Chapter Three

**7002 RAINSWOOD CT BETHESDA MD**

Daylight had barely broken as Michael Vance kissed his wife Jean goodbye, hugged his young daughter and shook hands man-to-man with his teenage sons. The kids scrambled into the dark blue Ford Explorer and obediently buckled up. In the back end were several suitcases containing clothes for a week, road snacks and games.

‘Good thing you’re getting an early start. The gas tank’s full, I checked the tires and oil, and the GPS is working,’ said Vance. ‘You should be good. Tell Mom and Dad I said hello. Enjoy yourselves. And be careful.’

‘Wish you could go with us, Mike,’ said his wife.

‘Not enough vacation days left, honey. I’ll make up for it next year. Hope that thing with your Mom turns out to be benign.’

Vance turned to go back to the house and as an afterthought, yelled, ‘Tommy! Don’t forget to remind your Mom to let you drive!’ A six-hundred-mile trip would be perfect for his seventeen-year-old son to get in some practice driving. Jean would probably appreciate the break.

‘Will do, Dad!’ Tommy yelled back.

Vance walked out into the street to watch the van until it turned the corner at Greentree Road and vanished from sight. As much as he disliked his family leaving without him, he found himself looking forward to an entire week of bachelor solitude.

Standing in the street, he took a minute to appreciate the beauty of the home that sheltered his family; a two and a half story brick with plantation windows, attached garage, circular driveway; trimmed flowerbeds in the yard; the surrounding evergreens and flowering bushes that come spring would fill the yard with color. He felt a great sense of pride and contentment as he stooped to pick up the newspaper. He checked the mailbox. It was stuffed. Sure enough, the boys had forgotten yesterday’s mail. He removed the thick stack, wrapped the newspaper around it and jammed under his arm. At least they'd thought to set the garbage on the curb. He grinned to himself as he walked back to the house.

He poured the last of the fresh coffee into his large mug. Jean had left the kitchen sparkling after their early breakfast so all he had to do for now was enjoy his coffee and leaf through the mail. He’d leave the bills for later. A slightly thick letter addressed to him brought him up short. The return address read 'Leverage Int’l, Portland, OR' with the company logo. Beneath it, block-printed, it read 'E Spencer.' His old buddy. It sparked his interest; knowing Eliot, it could be anything from a pocket calendar of X-rated cartoons to photos of the last War-on-Drugs cookout. 

Vance tore open the end of the envelope.


	4. Chapter Four

**WASHINGTON STATE PENITENTIARY**

The old man adjusted his cap and clutched his plastic bag of meager belongings closer to his chest as he stood waiting for the guards to release the door. He kept his head down, speaking to no one. The big double door buzzed open and he shuffled over the raised doorsill. One of the two security guards simply pointed the way to the bus waiting in the driveway that would take him to his destination; the office of a business associate who had agreed to take him in. He was to go nowhere else, they told him. The old man, stifling a grin, only nodded.

The guards closed the doors and watched their freed prisoner walk slowly to the bus. 'There's a bad idea, if you ask me,' said one of them.

'Nobody asked you, and it's not up to us, anyway' said the other. 'The wheels of justice turn without your help or mine.'

'I c'n guarantee, this’n'll come around to bite 'em in the butt, mark my words.'

'Aw, hell, what's he got? A seventy-two-year-old con…he’s broken. Harmless.'

'Not that kind. Gimme the in-your-face criminal any day of the week. Gimme Hitler; gimme Jack the Ripper. But guys like him…' The guard sighed and shook his head. He watched the bus doors open to admit the old man, who stumbled up the steep steps. Looks can be deceiving, he was thinking as he went back to the security desk.

The bus doors closed behind the old man.

‘Go on, take a seat,’ said the driver. ‘Got your choice of just about anywhere.’

There were only three other newly-released convicts who sat staggered close to the front. The entire back of the bus was vacant. The old man made his way down the aisle and set his bag on the very last seat. He sank down as if he had been years on the way. The bus lurched and moved forward. As it turned onto the highway the back end, suspended past the rear tires, bounced slightly. He gripped the top of the seat in front of him to steady himself. As the lumbering vehicle picked up speed, the old man relaxed, never looking back. 

It was time for an assessment. After five years' incarceration he had a few dollars in his pocket, a toothbrush, a couple of books, a change of underwear in the bag…and a wealth of new knowledge. While he was grateful he'd been spared the full sentence of eight years, largely due to overcrowding, his own good behavior and the skill of a sharp lawyer, he considered the five already served an abominable waste.

He had been thwarted at every turn in his efforts to convince an incompetent government to wake up and pay attention. They had rewarded his hard work with five years behind bars. Prison had failed to rehabilitate him - a fact he shrewdly kept hidden from the parole board – and now bitter and filled with vengeance, he was determined to get his work back on track. Carefully worded correspondence with his business associate assured him of a fresh start. For the past five years, he had been meticulously planning a new project. He hoped now that he was free, he could commence its operation.


	5. Chapter Five

**122 CONCORD SW WASHINGTON DC**

When at last he reached his destination, the old man stepped stiffly off the bus. The business associate, with whom he’d worked before, was at the front door to the warehouse, waiting to greet him. He ushered the old man into the elevator and up to the warehouse office, where a cup of coffee and a sandwich rejuvenated him after his long trip. Once the chatting and pleasantries were done, the two men got down to business, taking the elevator down to the basement of the old building.

‘I’m willing to back you in this new venture, Everett, just as we discussed while you were incarcerated,’ said Riley. ‘In view of that, I thought you might appreciate having something to work with…’

Riley flicked the overhead lights, illuminating a vast subterranean room. Although the unpainted concrete walls were slightly moldy and the floor consisted of cracked and broken tile, there were tables laden with equipment set up among ceiling supports and ventilation shafts. Udall turned to stare at Riley, astonished by what he saw.

‘It must be obvious to you; the equipment is yours. Marco and Jaleel brought everything…well, nearly everything, here. It’s all been stored here, waiting for you for the past five years.’

Udall wandered among the tables, fingers moving over equipment, notebooks, bottles, tubes and beakers. Incredibly, even his computer awaited him.

‘How did…?’

‘Oh, I have my ways…’ Riley smiled conspiratorially. ‘The agent in charge of the case was operating _outside official boundaries_ , shall we say…that gave us time to remove everything before the _official_ investigation began. By the way, that crew diffused the little surprise you left just inside the door. Good thing, or _my_ men would have triggered it. Next time, let me in on your plans, hmm? Say, where in hell did you get a Claymore, anyway?’

Udall didn’t answer. He was still wandering among the tables laid out with equipment, mentally making an inventory. Suddenly, he looked at Riley. ‘You removed all this from my house? What evidence did they have left to convict me?’

‘Unfortunately, that unofficial team took some papers and uploaded your documents to a thumb drive, plus they had all they needed in that briefcase you were carrying on the subway. Such a shame. If we could have gotten our hands on all that, perhaps you wouldn’t have wasted five years.’ Riley shrugged.

‘Weren’t questions raised by the house being emptied?’

‘Marco incinerated it. Made it look like an electrical fire. You certainly had enough junk in there to warrant it.’

‘You mean my house is gone. Burned.’

‘Everything you need is here, Everett. What are you complaining about?’

‘I guess there’s no cause to complain.’ Udall came upon the one piece of equipment he needed more than anything else at the moment; a small air pressure chamber he had designed and built before his incarceration. He laid his hand upon it with a satisfied smile.

‘That’s not all – open the door to your left.’

Udall complied. It was a small room for his own use, equipped with kitchenette, a half-bath and a cot.

He turned to his associate with a satisfied smile. ‘It appears I am in your debt, Mr. Riley.’

‘Well,’ said the bespectacled, rather effeminate man, ‘a satisfied customer certainly gladdens the heart. But…understand this, Udall. I’m setting you up here so long as it suits our mutual need. What you get out of it, I frankly could care less. My main concern is taking down the persons who… who humiliated... and…’ he rubbed his neck as if he could still feel the harsh sting of Parker’s stun gun… ‘ _tased me!’_

‘I think our mutual need will be satisfactorily resolved,’ replied Udall evenly.

‘Let’s hope so. Have you a plan?’

‘I've never stopped planning for five long years. My only advantage in that place was the knowledge I gained. Invaluable.’

‘Then I leave you to begin. Anything you need, make a list. Marco will see to it.’

Riley stepped into the elevator. Udall was glad to see him go. Now he could get down to work.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison’s dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

Hardison helped Parker carry the stacks of mail to the bar where stamps, a box of paper clips, a pen and a small knife lay waiting. Processing each day's mail was a chore the three partners shared. Hardison performed his stint dutifully; Eliot complied unwillingly and only after much prodding. Parker, however, loved it. In her opinion, it felt like Christmas morning.

What would she find among the bundles, envelopes and packages? A plea from a client? That would be great; they were way overdue for one. A bill? That would be irksome. There was just no telling; it could be anything from an annoying jury summons (solution: call Hardison, who could make it vanish into thin air) or a surprise package from Archie, who sent little gifts from time to time to someone he considered his daughter. What she wanted now more than anything else was a new client to generate revenue, for her cut would be a nice, fresh stack of crisp, new bills.

Behind her, Eliot lazed indolently on the couch, concentrating on the game. Hardison sat at the dining table pecking at his keyboard. Both were glad Parker had to deal with it; they were free to pursue their own interests.

Parker talked to herself as she leafed through the stacks. 'Bill… bill… bill. Humph. I'm saving those for you, Hardison. Hey, a postcard from Nate and Sophie! They're… _enjoying Rome and wish you were all here. Off to Paris next week._ Humph,' she said again. 'Jetsetters.'

'Can you do the mail _quietly,_ Parker?' Eliot crammed a handful of popcorn into his mouth and keyed the volume up a bar or two on the remote. Hardison was in another world, writing code, and barely heard her.

Parker rolled her eyes but obligingly dropped her voice to a whisper. 'Junk mail… junk mail… ads, same as junk mail… _you may already be a winner_ … fast, free loans… Globe life insurance… Hey, your _General Cable Electronics_ catalog and _PC Magazine_ came, Hardison.'

'I'll look at 'em in a minute, Babe,' Hardison said, absently.

Parker sorted and stacked. Junk went into the trash can. Bills were placed in a neat pile. Disappointingly, there were no client requests or referrals. She sighed. A long, slightly thick envelope was next. Parker cocked her head, curiously wondering what it could be. She looked at the return address.

'Hey Eliot,' she called out, 'Vance sent you something.'

Eliot's mind was centered on the game. _'Fumble!'_ he yelled. He watched the opposing team finish their disgusting display of ineptness before he answered Parker. 'Huh?'

'I said you have an envelope from Vance. You know…your friend from the Army? The tall one?'

Eliot twisted around on the sofa and looked back at Parker, a mixture of irritation and confusion on his face. An envelope? He’d talked to Vance just this morning and he hadn’t mentioned it…


	7. Chapter Seven

**122 CONCORD SW WASHINGTON DC**

The lights flickered in the creaky old building as Dr. Udall wrote out a list of the supplies he would need. Marco stood by, impatiently waiting, rubbing his face in an effort to wake up. Udall glanced up toward the light fixtures. Fortunately, the gas wall heater was keeping the temperature comfortable in the early morning chill and the gas stove so critical to his work was functioning.

'Can't something be done about that?' he asked the tall, burly black man. 'I'm going to need sufficient light for my work.'

'Just where do you think you are, old man? The Jeffersonian?'

Udall stared at him, stonefaced.

'Forget it. I watch too much TV when I'm not being ordered around. Anyway, don't be looking a gift horse in the mouth! Are you done?'

Udall, not wishing to provoke Marco further, simply held out the sheet of paper.

'This it?' The man scanned the list. 'OK, old man, Riley told me to get you anything you needed but… what in the hell are _castor beans_ and where in the hell am I gonna _get_ 'em?

Udall was goaded. 'Didn't your mother ever give you castor oil for an upset stomach? Or did you even have a mother? Perhaps you sprang from a jackal.'

_'Watch your mouth,_ Udall. I've been ordered to get your supplies but I'm not taking any crap from you, and I'm not going on any goddamned wild goose chase…I wanna know exactly what I'm getting and where from!'

'Simple enough: it's only a vegetable and you'll find a contact on that list who can supply the required quantity. Riley has insured your discretion; do not betray that contact. As you can see, there is also a list of chemicals and where to get them. I also need a supply of masks, gloves, a large apron and a small roll of 4-mil sheet plastic. You'll find most of those things at any hardware store and I want you to buy each item from a different store. The entire list must not be traced to any one supplier. I also need a small baby powder, coffee filters, mason jars, nine-and-a-half inch envelopes - you know, the legal kind - forever stamps, print toner, super glue, and some groceries. Oh, and a bottle of good Merlot. Any year but 2000.'

'Is that _all_?' Marco asked sarcastically. 'How soon do you need all this shit?'

'As early as possible; preferably today. I've some refining work to do which will take time.'

Marco, infuriated, shook his head. 'You should have given me this list sooner, Udall. I'll get you this stuff but it's gonna take at least three days. I don't work for you, buddy. Riley's my boss and he has things I need to do for him. It's three days or nothing.'

The old scientist conceded; alienating Marco would only delay matters. 'That…that will be satisfactory, Marco.'

'Glad you think so,' Marco said in a mocking tone. He crumpled the paper into his pocket and stalked out, slamming the door.

Udall had no choice but to wait. He found some instant coffee in the cupboard of his small room and heated water on the hotplate. Sipping the strong brown liquid, he covered a yellow legal pad with calculations. It was all he could do for the moment. Tuesday passed much the same; during lunch and dinner Udall and Riley reviewed and refined their plans, each to the other's satisfaction. By noon Wednesday, Marco returned with a heavily laden dolly. The man's attitude left a lot to be desired, but the results of his work were imminently satisfactory; everything Udall had requested and ahead of schedule. No wonder Riley kept him around.

Udall set up the tables with burners, glass tubes and beakers; utensils, grinder and centrifuge; all the things he would need to refine the seeds of the castor plant down into finely ground powders. It felt good to get back to work again.

_Finally._


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison’s dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

**122 CONCORD SW WASHINGTON DC**

Dr. Udall no longer pursued disease research or germ warfare. His experience with the pig farmer had been a fiasco; the smell of the place had been intolerable; the entire operation, if he were honest with himself, had been clumsy; his efforts had been foiled; his first attempt had been a failure. There were other, more simplified ways to accomplish his goals; other means by which he could prove his point…and seek revenge at the same time.

Such were his thoughts as he emptied the burlap bag of beans into the large, simmering cauldron on the gas stove. The first step, stirring and cooking, would soften the outer coating of the beans. The batch would be allowed to cool, then mashed and filtered. Specific solvents would be added to extract the key component from the solution.

Udall chuckled to himself, thinking how easy it was to make the base. All the ingredients were easily obtainable; practically over-the-counter, but the substance in its most unadulterated form required specialized materials and the mind of a scientist, one who could extract the pure element and refine it to ensure the highest degree of efficacy. The problem was in its delivery. The usual methods were not practical. He would have to aerosolize it.

Once the highly refined product was manufactured and carefully contained, he turned to the next step in his operation.

In prison, Udall had connected with several convicts harshly stung, as he had been, by _Leverage International._ They were only too happy to share their knowledge; a few tricks here, a few tips there, whispered conversations over tin plate lunches, all for no other reason than the satisfaction of a little payback. An entirely new edition of Professor Udall had emerged from the cocoon of a prison cell.

Two envelopes now emerged from the printer. They were perfect. Udall carefully disassembled them and laid them out on the table. With an exacto knife, he cut the 4-mil plastic to fit each envelope precisely. He bonded the plastic to the inside of the envelopes to create an airtight pocket. The plastic would be sturdy enough to contain the material under pressure yet tear upon opening, no matter what technique was used. Surprise was paramount.

Udall reassembled the envelopes. As before, when handling his product, he donned a protective suit to carefully transfer a generous quantity of it to each container. The air pressure chamber stood ready to receive both envelopes. He increased the pressure within to 1500 millibars. Using the glove ports, he sealed each one securely. In a previous, carefully controlled experiment with baby powder, test envelopes had performed satisfactorily. Opening the envelope in normal atmospheric conditions would deliver the contents in a widely disbursed manner.

He chuckled again, excited to be embarking once again on his quest. What was funny about this new scheme was that a governmental agency would commit the act - a quirk of fate not lost on Udall - and no one - no little blonde _bitch_ on the subway - absolutely _no one_ \- would be able to interfere. He'd take out the two men who had testified against him and pave the way for more of the same, which could only benefit mankind in the long run; sacrifice was a necessary evil, didn't they know that? The government just needed to be shown! _He had warned them for forty long years and they had crucified him for it._ He would show them. An apocalypse was going to happen one day; some terrorist with the right equipment was going to come along and…

He'd be ready.

Udall whistled softly to himself as he cleaned his equipment and straightened the lab. Riley would certainly be pleased with his progress. Udall left the lab and rode the elevator to the office.

The prissy man looked up as Udall entered the dusty, darkened room. 'How goes your progress, Udall?' he asked.

'Completed. The packages are ready to send to Spencer and the agent. You said you had the means to handle the postmarks; I trust that wasn't idle talk.'

'I never talk in any such idle manner, Udall. There are a couple of my, er, contractors in the Portland area. One of them will handle it. I'll send the packaged envelope; he'll ensure a Portland postmark that will satisfy the agent here in DC, rest assured. One day delivery, as you requested. Both should arrive roughly at the same time.'

'Good. I guarantee one hundred percent efficacy. Completely untraceable to us if your contractor does his job,' Udall stated confidently. He sat in a chair, uninvited. 'My…'

'You sound as if you're certain this is foolproof,' Riley interrupted. 'You know, the degree of your overconfidence has always bothered me, Emmett. It's what did you in the last time. You know that, don't you?'

Udall stared at Riley in a way that made shivers run down the scrawny man's spine.

'I've planned this most carefully over the last five years, my friend. You needn't worry. I've covered all my bases. Now, as I was about to say, if I may be allowed to finish; my goals are these: One, my revenge. I take it you don't have a problem with that. Two, as I attempted to do so before, influence our government, which is my own agenda. Three, are you interested, my friend? The ultimate goal is to bring down Leverage International and get my…er…our…hands on their considerable assets.'

'How…considerable?'

'In the neighborhood of one hundred fifty million. Maybe more. Like I said, you learn a lot in prison.'

'That much, hmm? Split how?'

'Why, fifty-fifty, of course. Unless you wish your men to benefit…but my portion will be half of the total in any case. What you do with your half is your business. After all, I've done all the work, Mr. Riley. You know any more scientists with my level of knowledge? Hmm?'

Riley gave Udall a sour look. He sat silently, thinking a minute. 'I suppose with their Hitter out of the picture, the idea isn't completely ludicrous. I myself once hired the man for…well, the occasional job; he has a formidable reputation. Yes, perhaps with him out of the way it could work…I have, as I said, contractors in that area who could take the other two out…'

'One step at a time, Mr. Riley. One step at a time.'


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison's dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

** LEVERAGE HEADQUARTERS PORTLAND, OREGON **

Parker, still waving the envelope in the air, misread Eliot's expressive face. 'This is from _Michael Vance_ , Eliot! The one you said didn't always wear a suit! Looks like he sent you something.'

_Jeez, what did it take to tear Eliot away from a stupid game?_

Parker's curiosity was getting the better of her. 'Want me to open it for you?'

Annoyed, Eliot shook his head. ' _Parker_ ,' he admonished, growling, 'You don't just _open_ somebody's…'

He never finished the sentence.

Parker's small knife punctured the envelope's flap.

In a microsecond, a very fine white powder burst forth with an audible _fump!_ The bar light illuminated it like a halo around Parker's head. Parker gasped in shock and surprise; a quantity of particles were sucked into her mouth and nose and began to light on her face, hands and shoulders. Confused, she shut her eyes and shook her head from side to side, coughing.

Eliot, quick to react, immediately ceased his respiration, pressed his lips together and vaulted over the back of the couch. He ran toward Parker and snatched her unceremoniously off her barstool. It clattered to the floor. Clamping his hand roughly over her mouth and nose, he began dragging her swiftly to the elevator door. He expended what air he had left to yell a warning: _'Hardison! Cover your mouth, man; don't breathe! Follow me out! **NOW!** '_

Hardison wasted no time complying. Briefly glancing back at the mysterious cloud suspended and expanding swiftly, ominously, he helped Eliot drag a struggling Parker out the door and into the elevator.

Parker fought to breathe; Eliot denied her that right, gripping her tightly. Besieged by his own need for oxygen, he glared at Hardison as if daring him to inhale. As he had done when he was buried alive Hardison, eyes wide with fear, placed one hand over his mouth as if to reinforce Eliot's command. The elevator doors opened; the two men half-carried and dragged a struggling Parker out of the brew pub downstairs. Only when they were outside on the sidewalk did Eliot give his companions, as well as himself, permission to take in fresh air. He took his hand away from Parker's face. Parker coughed and choked, gulping oxygen. Hardison lowered her to the pavement and bent double, coughing and gasping, each paroxysm visible in the cold air. Parker leaned back, exhausted, against the side of the building, stunned.

'We gotta get to a hospital, man, quick!' said Eliot, his voice strained from coughing.

'Lucille's keys were on the bar,' said Hardison, shaking his head. 'What…'

'Never mind that, we need an ambulance.'

Parker sat up, angry, disoriented and confused by Eliot's swift action. One minute she was simply opening an envelope and the next… 'What's the matter? What's _wrong?!_ ' she kept asking. Her sinuses burned; she began coughing harder. Hardison looked at her in alarm; her face and eyes were reddening.**

Hardison, shaken, gasped, 'I dunno, Babe…I…we gotta trust Eliot on this one. I _don't know_ what's going on!'

'I'm callin' the CDC,' Eliot said, holding his phone to his ear.

'Why…what…why the _CDC_ …?' Hardison stuttered, frightened.

' _Shut up_ , Hardison…if this is what I think it is…' He didn't finish the sentence. He was dialing 911.

Hardison, voice quivering in fear, yelled, ' _What_ , man? Exactly _what_ the hell do you _think_ it is?!'

_**'You're both scaring me!'**_ Parker suddenly screamed. 'Both of you just… _shut up!_ ' The effort of screaming intensified the coughing. She lay back on the icy pavement, straining, gasping for air.

Hardison, tears springing from his eyes, knelt down beside her. He grabbed Parker in his arms and rocked back and forth, holding her tight. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest; the rapid beats matching his. 'It'll be ok, Babe,' he kept telling her. 'It'll be ok.' He wanted to believe what he told her, but as he listened to Eliot's urgent phone conversation his anxiety increased.

** _For story purposes the normal time frame for ricin poisoning indicators has been condensed._


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison's dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

**7002 RAINSWOOD CT BETHESDA MD**  


The envelope in Vance’s hand exploded its contents straight up into his face. Though he was quick to react, swiftly expanding particulates lit on his upper body and entered his nose and eyes. Stunned, he left the envelope on the floor where it had fallen and clamped his hand over his nose and mouth, furious at himself. As an FBI agent, he had been trained to spot threats of this nature; how in hell had he missed it?  


His priorities now were to get out of his clothes, get to fresh air and call for help.  


Vance grabbed his cell phone, loosened his belt and dropped his pants. Still operating on half a lungful of air, he snatched his wallet and Federal badge. He staggered outside in his tee shirt and boxers after locking the front door for safety. He'd give the keys to the authorities; he knew the house would have to be quarantined until all contamination was removed.  


He couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen. His vision was blurry and his balance was off.* Inhaling the cold air as deeply as he could, which triggered a coughing spell, he crept to one of the lawn chairs. Holding the phone to his ear, he chokingly relayed his emergency and location to the dispatcher, stressing the need for special precautions.  


As he waited for the cavalry to arrive, struggling to breathe and shaking from the cold, Vance searched his memory. He knew that white powder incidents had been reported at various locations in recent times, including a few Federal buildings, across the country. The method of delivery most frequently utilized by terrorists and enemy agents… _and_ the most lethal…was injection. That knowledge and the fact that he'd minimized his exposure somewhat gave him some hope, for injection was a death sentence.  


Shaking his head, he berated himself. _What a stupid thing to do!_ He'd been distracted by Jean leaving; he'd let his mind wander at the thought of a week of bachelor solitude; the envelope had appeared legitimate. Still…he should have been more alert.  


Vance’s reddened eyes were stinging; he closed them. Thank God Jean had left that morning! Thank God the kids had forgotten the mail! What if this had happened to one of _them?_  


He couldn’t think clearly. Why would Spencer send… No. _No way_ would his friend do something like this. No. Way. Spencer’s technique had always been straightforward; sometimes lethal, but never covert. So…that begged the question: who _had_ sent it…why in Spencer's name, targeting him specifically? Again, who? For what reason?  


_He had to figure it out!_  


Vance was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on the puzzle; just the act of getting enough oxygen into his lungs took all his strength. He fought panic. He had to tell the EMTs not to call Jean. Not just yet. She had enough on her mind, what with her mother and…  


He could hear the sirens in the distance, getting closer and closer.  


_Spencer didn't do this._  


The ambulance, lights flashing, turned into his driveway. Vance staggered in his efforts to stand and walk to them but he bent double coughing and choking. His knees buckled and he went down, landing on the frosted grass. Emergency personnel swarmed over him; their voices buzzing in his ears like so many bees.  


Vance's throat was closing up; he could barely speak. He used what little air he had to force words out of his strained larynx. 'Don't…call my…wife!' he instructed them hoarsely. 'Do… _not_ …call…wife!'  


'We'll see, buddy, we'll see. Relax, we've got you now. What's all this?' the technician asked, accepting items from Vance's clenched fist.  


Another EMT was covering him with a blanket, preparing him for transport. 'What's he got?' he asked.  


The first technician took the items in gloved hands, enumerating them. 'House keys, wallet, phone; don't worry, I'll bag 'em. Hey, look! This guy's a _Federal agent!'_ he said, holding up the gleaming badge.  


'A white powder incident against a Federal agent… _whoa.'_  


'Yeah, and he's not looking so good, so hurry it up.'  


They strapped Vance to the gurney, raised it and shoved it into the back of the ambulance. Treatment began immediately. While they worked on him, Vance's thoughts were a feverish whirl: _Not Eliot. He’d never do anything like this. Good; they have protective gear on. Damn, my throat’s on fire! It wasn't Eliot…I know it wasn’t Eliot!_  


Needles were going into his arms. A blood pressure cuff pinched and an oxygen mask went over his reddening nose and cheeks. He couldn't see anyone behind the Hazmat helmets; it would be comforting to see a human face, but he had to be satisfied with the reflection of his own in their masks…and that reflection was frightening.  


In his last moments of consciousness, Vance’s thoughts of Eliot Spencer triggered a memory; he had spoken to him over the phone not long ago. Was it possible an old neutered tomcat was responsible for this?  


* _For story purposes the normal time for ricin poisoning indicators has been condensed._


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison’s dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN  


**LEVERAGE HEADQUARTERS PORTLAND, OREGON**  


_'Damn it, Hardison, let go of Parker!!'_  


Eliot's expressive face flashed a stern warning at his friend before he turned his attention back to the phone. 'Yeah, yeah, listen, we're gonna need _Hazmat and an ambulance_ …you heard me. _Yes, it's an emergency!_ Tell the EMTs to wear protective equipment…yes, that’s the right address. _Hurry the hell up!' ___  


Eliot ended the call, set the phone on the pavement and extracted his knife from his jeans pocket. He flicked it open and began carefully cutting his own sweater and shirt off. He stepped on the heel of each boot with his toes and worked them off, slid his jeans down, gathered everything into a tight bundle and laid it on the sidewalk. The other two watched him, mystified.  


Hardison drew back when Eliot, wearing only briefs and socks, approached him with the knife.  


_'Trust me,_ Hardison!!'  


Eliot explained as he swiftly slit Hardison's sweater carefully away from his body along with the T-shirt he wore underneath: 'Particles, man…can't pull it over your head; you'll get another dose. Gimme the pants! Everything but the boxers.'  


Hardison complied, shaking from fear as much as the cold. Again, Eliot rolled the garments tightly and placed them beside his on the pavement.  


Parker began sobbing hysterically as Eliot approached, kneeling in front of her.  


'No! _Stop it!'_ she cried.  


Eliot ignored her protests; her blouse, slacks and shoes soon joined the other two bundles. Hardison started to pull Parker’s long hair out of her ponytail to give her a little warmth; Eliot stopped him. 'Leave it alone, Hardison. I said don't touch her, man!'  


'How come it was ok to pull her out of there but I can't touch her _now?!'_  


'We gotta minimize exposure, that's why. Parker got sprayed; she's covered with it.'  


The big man crouched as close to Parker as he dared in an attempt to block some of the cold wind from her. She was shivering uncontrollably, clad only in her underwear, as was he.  


'Man, she's freezing to death!' Hardison protested.  


'Can't be helped right now. Keep your hands away from your mouths,' Eliot ordered.  


'Lemme go get a tablecloth or something from the bar!'  


'Hardison, the whole damn place is contaminated. _Stay out!' _Eliot had stifled his coughing but now bent double with the effort, spitting on the sidewalk. He leaned heavily against a _No Parking___ sign, waiting for the emergency vehicles while Hardison and Parker crouched miserably against the rough brick wall. Both were coughing severely; Parker was gasping as if she couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs; her hands clenched at her sides.  


Sirens wailed in the distance, growing ever closer. Eliot stepped into the street to flag the Hazmat unit; the ambulance was behind it. Two EMTs remained in the ambulance, looking skeptically at three people, coughing and choking, wearing only their underwear in forty-degree weather, seemingly otherwise unscathed. One of the hazmat crew in full gear climbed down out of the vehicle and approached Eliot.  


‘You the one who called?’ he asked, his voice muffled by his mask.  


'Yeah, I am,’ Eliot said impatiently. ‘I reported an overt incident of _white powder_ according to the _Initial Response and Notification Process.'_  


'How are you familiar with that?' the man asked skeptically.  


'Look, let's just say I know emergency preparedness procedures and let it go at that!' Eliot yelled, disinclined to admit he'd learned about it from a week spent at a timeshare with a blonde PhD from OPHEP. He coughed again.  


'Ok, fine. White powder. Implementation?'  


'Mail bomb. She got the worst of it,' Eliot said, indicating Parker. 'Him and me, not so much. We need to bag those clothes on the sidewalk and get out of what we have on.'  


'You got that right, buddy. OK, let's go. If you test positive we'll get the FBI on it.' The man nodded to his partner. White-swathed personnel helped Hardison into the Hazmat unit. They loaded a gasping, shaking Parker onto a gurney and into the ambulance.  


‘Inhaling’s not the worst method of contamination,' the EMT said to Eliot, 'but you know there's no antidote, no matter what.’  


‘I know,’ said Eliot, grimly.  


‘Ok, get in, we'll step on it.’  


'Thanks, man.'  


Eliot joined Hardison in the Hazmat unit. Their briefs, socks and shoes, jewelry, watches and Eliot's phone and knife were double bagged. Seated on benches, both men were swathed in protective garb and warm blankets and given oxygen.  


In the ambulance, Parker lay quivering, terrified, on the gurney. Her shoes and underwear had been removed and bagged by masked EMTs who didn't seem to understand her panic. She fought one technician, clenching her fist tightly when he tried to remove her diamond ring. An IV went into her arm and an oxygen mask over her nose. She kept her left hand balled into a fist and gripped the warm blanket with her right, frightened of the unknown, wanting nothing so much as Hardison's arms around her and his comforting words in her ear. After checking Parker’s vitals, one of the EMTs mercifully gave her a sedative. Her hand relaxed. The diamond ring went into the bag.  


In the Hazmat unit, Eliot and Hardison held fast to the benches bolted to the floor of the vehicle as it sped toward the hospital. Both men could hear the radio exchanges from up front: the ER was to expect three adults, two men and a woman; suspected ricin intoxication. Hardison's dark eyes, widened by fear, met Eliot’s steely gaze. He knew now what they were in for.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison's dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

CHAPTER TWELVE

**OREGON HEALTH AND SCIENCE UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL**

The ambulance carrying Parker pulled into the emergency bay. Her gurney was immediately whisked into an isolation room. The Hazmat truck pulled up soon after. Eliot and Hardison, both ambulatory, were nevertheless placed in wheelchairs and taken to the same room, where all three were evaluated.

Testing verified Eliot's initial assessment: each of them had suffered ricin toxicity. Any particle that was inhaled would react within their bodies by preventing cells from making proteins. The cells would die, and every cell in their bodies would be vulnerable to the cascading effect.

One by one, Parker, Hardison and Eliot were taken to baths where nurse practitioners in protective clothing scrubbed them from head to toe with soap and warm water. The three were subjected to fifteen-minute eyewashes in an attempt to remove as much of the exterior chemical substance as possible. The contaminated wastewater was contained for treatment according to protocol.

Back in the emergency room, doctors and nurses in masks and gloves hovered over them. All three presented classic symptoms of ricin intoxication: high fever, difficulty breathing, heavy sweating, muscle cramps, nausea; symptoms which intensified with each passing hour.

Parker had inhaled the greatest quantity of the aerosolized ricin. Her eyes were bloodshot; her face and hands reddish and painful where the powder had made contact with the skin. Now conscious, coughing and gasping, she struggled against the medical team as they swabbed her throat, administered IVs, drew blood and monitored her blood pressure and temperature.

With no antidote for ricin toxicity, treatment was limited to flushing out as much of the poisonous substance as possible. Pulmonary edema and respiratory failure were the greatest risks. The only saving grace was that they had not been injected, like the unfortunate Bulgarian dissident who had died within three days from just such an incident in 1978. The medical staff could only monitor each patient and provide palliative care. And hope.

Parker's condition continued to deteriorate. Her doctors intubated her and transported her to the intensive care unit where a heart-lung machine and dialysis unit stood by. Utilizing these machines would allow her liver and kidneys to rest and slow the progress of pulmonary edema.

Hardison's fever was high and his nausea was severe; like Parker, he had a drip of compazine, saline and morphine. Despite being severely congested he was so far able to breathe on his own, assisted by an oxygen mask. He had refused intubation unless it was absolutely necessary. He had to stay awake for Parker.

He argued with the medical team, more scared than he had ever been in his life. The memory of having been buried in a casket underground in a job gone wrong surfaced again; it seemed like nothing now. He kept yelling for Parker, begging her not to die. As her gurney was wheeled out of the ER to the ICU, he had to be restrained from going after her. Doctors were forced to administer a sedative to allow him to rest.

Hour by hour, however, Hardison's condition slowly deteriorated and he joined Parker in Intensive Care. The medical staff was kind enough to place his bed close beside hers. Groggily, he reached a hand through the bars of the bed to grasp her fingers. Tears ran unheeded down his cheeks and dampened his pillow.

Of the three, Eliot was the least affected. His arms, chest, blue eyes and ruddy complexion were flushed and mottled by exterior exposure but because he had inhaled only a minute amount of the aerosolized powder, his symptoms were slightly milder. Fluids were pushed through IVs to prevent dehydration, a Morphine drip helped control his pain and his nausea responded to treatment. He had a persistent cough, and a severe headache still plagued him.

Alone in the emergency room now, he lay resting, one hand over his eyes against the harsh light, seemingly asleep. Beneath the calm exterior, however, his brain was racing. Parker had opened a letter from Vance…meant for him. _What the fuck was going on?!_


	13. Vengeance - Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison's dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

**GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL, WASHINGTON DC**

Across the country at the big hospital everyone referred to as G.W., Michael Vance lay in the emergency room. The standard gurney didn't fit his large frame. The nurses had inserted an extender at the end but his feet still dangled off. In addition to this discomfort, he was wildly thirsty and nauseated. Due to the high fever accompanying his other symptoms, his head felt like it was going to explode. He'd never had such a pounding headache; coupled with waves of pain emanating from his lungs, it was almost more than he could bear. His skin from head to chest, including his arms, was mottled red and extremely painful. Grimacing, he signed release forms, annoyed with slow bureaucratic necessities while he labored to draw breath.

Nurses in hazmat suits had already bathed him and what little he was wearing had been removed and bagged.

Now his chest felt as if an invisible elephant was using it as a sofa. Groaning, he pressed both hands to his temples in an effort to ease the headache and was irritated when the nurses brought his arms down to his sides to insert the IVs.

The medication delivered into his veins dulled the pain somewhat; now maybe he could think for a few minutes while they worked over him. He frowned, trying to concentrate. There was something he'd wanted to remember, what was it? Mentally he retraced his steps. This all started…there had been a letter…from Spencer. OK, what was the significance of that? Vance fought against the sedatives that were clouding his thoughts. A strange jumble of images drifted through his mind. One in particular kept resurfacing: a cat wearing a black golf cap. What in hell did that ridiculous image have to do with anything? He strained to remember just as he strained to breathe.

Then it hit him. He'd been thinking of an _old neutered tomcat_ as a way of describing Udall. That terrorist bastard was out of prison; he remembered calling Eliot about it. He’d brought Udall down and because of that he’d been targeted. Made sense. Anyone else involved might also be targeted, and that included Spencer. It was reasonable to assume that Spencer might get the same kind of surprise gift that had been sent to him.

_Crap._ Vance had to warn his friend.

But _how?_ He couldn't pull in enough breath to even whisper! _Damn!_

For Vance, that last infuriating thought slowly faded as his eyes rolled back in his head. The last sound he heard was a doctor shouting for an intubation tray.

~

Michael Vance, FBI agent, tested positive for toxic ricin poisoning.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation was immediately notified, along with the CDC, Department of Homeland Security, the Office of Public Health Emergency Preparedness and local law enforcement. Alerts were faxed to every hospital in the nation.

The media didn't need to be notified. Reporters almost immediately clamored at the doors to the hospital, demanding answers. An official statement was prepared and the story spread to all corners of the nation:

_'The Federal Bureau of Investigation has confirmed that an envelope sent to a Federal agent here in Washington, DC has been found to contain a white powdered substance. The envelope is still being screened, although field tests were positive for ricin, a highly toxic poison. An investigation is being conducted by the FBI and Capitol Police, but a spokesperson told the Associated Press there are as yet no suspects.'_   


The young newscaster reporting locally paused to respond to his anchor, who had asked a question about this disturbing report. 'The victim has not yet been identified pending notification of his family. He was taken to George Washington University Hospital, and we are told his condition is critical.'

The reporter turned his attention back to the camera.

_'Meanwhile, in Portland, Oregon, a second incident: a spokesperson for the Oregon Health and Science University Hospital has reported to the CDC that three civilians have also been exposed to ricin. The condition of the civilians is currently unknown. We will have more details on this story as they become available.'_

~

In his apartment on Concord SW Avenue, Everett Udall sat watching the news, nodding and smiling contentedly, his cold eyes focused on the TV screen. They weren't dead yet, but it wouldn't take long. They soon would be. Maybe they already were.

Riley's television in his dank office had been turned to the news channel for several days. Riley leaned back in his creaky office chair, capping and uncapping his pen. Udall's plan seemed to be working. Phase One, anyway. Phase Two was entirely up to the professor; Riley didn't care one way or the other. It remained to be seen whether the old con could pull off Phase Three, which held the most interest for Riley. More money in his till was always first on his agenda.

_This chapter is dedicated to Rowingmaiden_


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison's dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

CHAPTER 14

**OREGON HEALTH AND SCIENCE UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL**

By Thursday, Eliot Spencer's condition was much improved. His exposure had been minimal and his doctors had succeeded in flushing the ricin from his body and clearing his lungs. With an IV still in his arm and a catheter in his bladder, he was wheeled into a private hospital room. One nurse fitted him with oxygen tubes and an automatic blood pressure cuff while another hung another bag of saline. He had been taken off NPO and was just in time for lunch. After the nurses settled him and left, he lifted the plastic plate lid from the tray, scowling. Clear soup, weak tea and jello: just one of a dozen reasons he hated hospitals so much. Irritated, he shoved the bed tray aside but changed his mind and pulled it back again. He'd survived being poisoned only to die a slow death from hospital fare, but he had to eat.

Grumbling and twisting on the narrow bed, he finally achieved some semblance of comfort and powered up the overhead television to watch while he ate. He ran the channels around until he found the local news. Good, he hadn't missed the sports segment; it was next up. While he listened to the last bit of news, he tipped the soup bowl to his lips, finished the small square of red jello in two bites and bolted the lukewarm tea, grimacing. The minute they let him out of here he was going for a pizza.

A highlighted news ticker at the bottom of the screen caught his attention:

_'BREAKING NEWS: The FBI has confirmed that the substance in the 'white powder' incident in Portland, Oregon four days ago is, in fact, ricin. Homeland Security and the United States Postal Service warns the public to notify the authorities if any suspicious letter, box or package is received.'_

No shit, Sherlock, Eliot thought as he leaned back against the pillow. He'd been damned lucky. Hardison would be probably be all right; he only hoped Parker made it through this as well. There had been no updates on their condition since they left the ER.

The news ticker continued:

_'In addition to the Portland area, an FBI agent in Washington DC was also attacked in a second ricin incident. All victims are receiving medical treatment. However, the identities of those involved are being withheld until the investigation is complete. It is not known at this time if these two incidents are related.'_

Eliot was stunned. _Federal agent._ A federal agent in Washington, DC. Eliot's instincts, long honed in his years as a soldier, hitter and retrieval specialist, hummed like highline wires. Somehow he knew, he just _knew,_ it was Vance, and at the same time he realized who the perpetrator might be. It all seemed to fall into place. He had to find out for sure.

Eliot shook his head in frustration. His bedside monitor sounded an alarm as his blood pressure fluctuated. A nurse hurried in to check the monitor and found him sitting up, staring out the window. The TV was off. Every muscle in his body was tensed; his fists were clenched.

‘Are you all right, Mr. Spencer?’

He turned to look at her. 'Tell the doctor I want to see him. _Now.'_

The look in his eyes frightened her. 'Of course,' she said.

Somebody had to be helping the old bastard. There was a connection somewhere…involving us…him…and the backer. What or who was the connection? Eliot cast in his mind for possibilities. Damn it, he needed his phone! His thoughts were interrupted by the nurse, who returned, physician in tow.

The doctor was curt. He stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. 'What can I do for you, Mr. Spencer?'

'You can let me out of here. It's been over three days. I'm fine.'

'I wouldn't call your condition fine. You've _survived.'_ said the doctor. 'You're one very lucky young man.'

Eliot shrugged. 'Like I said, I'm fine.'

'I'll determine that, if you don't mind.' The doctor did a quick assessment of his patient's condition: eyes, throat, reflexes, glands. Urine output and color were normal. 'Any pain?' he asked, palpating the chest and stomach area.

'No,' Eliot lied.

The doctor wasn’t fooled. He’d treated men like Spencer before; they were tough as nails; thought of themselves as invincible. 'Not at the moment, huh,' he commented dryly. He drew the sheet aside; the legs were not mottled like the chest and arms; the reflexes and muscle tone were good.

'All right,' the doctor conceded when the examination was complete, 'I'll release you. However…are you listening, Mr. Spencer? You need to take it easy for a few weeks. You're going to feel these effects for some time; as long as 6 months to a year. I'll write you a prescription for pain and one to keep your blood pressure up. You've developed hypotension; I don't want those numbers dropping below 90/60; you could pass out. You'll feel tired, lightheaded, dizzy, nauseated. Keep your diet light; lots of clear soup, salads and juices. No alcohol. Your vision might be blurry and your balance may be off. I wouldn't recommend driving. Just take it easy and give yourself the time your body needs to heal…any questions?'

Eliot's throat worked. 'Yeah…how are Hardison and Parker? The two who were brought in with me? They're my friends.'

'Yes, Alec's recovering nicely; in fact I'll be releasing him, also. The young woman is still in the ICU. Her condition remains serious, but I think she'll survive. It may take her longer to recover.'

'Parker,' said Eliot, hoarsely. 'Her name is Parker.'

'Yes, of course, Parker. She's an unusually strong young woman. Try not to worry. If I were you, I'd go home and go straight to bed.'

Eliot nodded curtly.

'I'll send a nurse in with your paperwork. Your friend Hardison is on the first floor, Room 110, if you want to see him before you leave. Good luck.'  


The doctor left.

Eliot leaned back against his pillows. Doctors were frigging alarmists. Sure, his eyes looked like he'd been on a three-day bender and his arms looked like he'd fallen asleep on the beach, but nothing hurt all that much; he felt strong, and the anger building within him made him feel even stronger.

Within the hour a slim, blonde nurse arrived with his release forms and prescriptions. However, the only personal items she returned to him were his boots, thoroughly cleaned and in a hospital bag. It was time to apply a little leverage.

Eliot turned on the charm, arranged his face in more pleasant lines, smiling, eyes wide with innocence. The nurse smiled back. She wasn't the stalwart matron he'd seen earlier but young and pretty. Just his type, if only he had the time…

'Pardon me, Miss, um…' Eliot leaned forward to read her name tag, 'Callie, pretty name. Listen, they brought me in by ambulance…I had a wallet and a phone when I came in…I sure do need 'em.'

'Let's see…' she consulted her clipboard. 'I'm sorry, sir, but they were bagged and stored in the hospital safe along with some jewelry they took off you. They're considered evidence in your case. It was a terrorist attack, you see…there’ll be a trial as soon as they find out who did it.'

'Oh, I see. I forgot about that. Uh, they haven't been picked it all up yet?'

'No, they're kind of backlogged, like we all are,' she said, responding to his charm.

'No problem. Listen, when I came in I also kind of didn't have any clothes. Got something I can wear out of here?'

'I could get you a set of scrubs. I'll have to add them to your bill, though.'

'That'll be fine.'

'I'll be right back.'

She returned presently with a fresh scrub suit. 'These should fit. Oh, and I'm to tell you that the LPN, Mrs. Smith, will be in to take out your IV and everything. You can get dressed after that. Can you wait about twenty minutes? Like I said, we're backlogged,' Callie laughed.

Eliot nodded, smiling his best.

'Good luck,' said Callie.

Eliot didn't wait for Mrs. Smith. He threw aside the covers. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his catheter, ripped the blood pressure cuff from his arm and removed his IV. He wadded tissue in the pit of his bent elbow, donned the scrub suit and was gone by the time the nurse arrived.

 

_This chapter is dedicated to Rowingmaiden_


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison and Parker are now the Leverage team. Nate and Sophie, long retired, reside blissfully somewhere in Europe. The team of three has persisted, building their justice-for-hire empire to encompass several countries. Leverage International, Hardison’s dream, was now a reality. Now, an old nemesis is back.

**OREGON HEALTH AND SCIENCE UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL**

Eliot stepped from the elevator and turned down the first corridor on his way to see Hardison. His partner seemed to be almost back to his old self. The two men exchanged their usual slap-slap-fist-bump followed by a strong hand clasp. Hardison's reddened eyes lit up to see his friend again.

'Hardison…man…how you feelin'?'

'Better'n I _was,_ that's for sure. You?'

'Almost back to normal.'

'Damn, man, I could barely tell it was you. Vision's still a little blurry - thought you was another damn doctor, dressed like that. All you need's a stethoscope draped around your neck.'

'Naw, I got these to wear out of here - I bet you get some, too. They're rather fashion-y. Think they go with these boots?' Eliot jokingly posed like a model but Hardison was in no mood for it.

'Who _did_ this to us, Eliot?!'

'Believe me, man, I’m gonna find out. You can bank on it. Seen the doctor?'

'Not yet.'

'He's gonna release you today. Parker's gotta stay a while.'

'They won't tell me _nothin'_ about her. Damn, man, she's m’ _woman!_ ' Hardison said, his quivering. 'Why won't they tell me? You haven’t heard anything, have you, man? Parker ain’t _dead,_ is she?!'

'Aw, hell no! They probably didn't wanna worry ya, Hardison. I’ll tell ya what the doc told me, ok? All right. She's in pretty serious shape…you know it was bad. But Parker, you know, man, she's _strong._ She loves ya - you and that damn big ring you probably paid too much for…unless you stole it.'

'Naw,' Hardison smiled wistfully, smiling.

'Listen, Hardison, when you get outta here I need you to do something for me. You got another one of your little fancy computer setups at home, right?'

'Not as good as the one at Headquarters…'

'No…the building's sealed until after the Hazmat crews clear the contamination. You gotta do this from home - it's where you need to be anyway, to get some rest. Listen, what happened to us has been on the news. A federal agent was the victim of another attack in DC. When you get home, I need you to find out for sure if it was Vance. My gut tells me it is. Find out if he's still alive, what hospital he's in…and call me.'

'They _took_ your phone, man - I saw 'em bag it.'

'Never mind that. _Call me,_ Hardison,' Eliot repeated sternly. 'If it's Vance, locate his wife; she went to visit her parents. Her name is -'

'Jean, yeah, I know. I can find her easy.'

'Figured you could. Tell her to meet me at the same hospital. Don’t tell her what happened; _I’ll_ tell her. Don't want to scare her.'

'Sure, Eliot.'

'Thanks, man. Listen, I gotta go -'

'Eliot, what are you gonna _do?!_ ' Hardison called after him. _'Eliot!'_

The Hitter was already gone. 

~

Eliot stopped by the ICU to look in on Parker. He had never seen such an array of equipment hooked up to one person in his life; but then, he and hospitals had never been on the best of terms. Damn, she looked like a cyborg lying there. Various shades of an ugly, mottled, dark reddish hue stained her normally pale complexion; the machine breathing for her clicked and whooshed. Hardison didn't need to see her like this. Not alone.

The nurse on duty, Mrs. Davis, was a kindly soul who allowed him ten minutes at Parker's bedside. Eliot told the nurse about Hardison and was assured that she would stay with him when he saw Parker. She related details of Parker's condition: she was unconscious but improving, albeit very slowly. No, she couldn't give him a definitive prognosis but all indications were hopeful. Medical science could do wonders these days, she said. Would he like some time alone with her? Eliot gratefully nodded.

He took the little Thief's hand in his.

'Hey…' he said softly to her, placing one hand on her forehead, 'sorry I scared ya the other day. I… y'know, I see that frightened little kid inside you, Parker… and you…you put on this crazy-ass face to hide her, but I know she's there. Look, all I gotta say is, you…y'got a good man waiting for ya, and if ya don't pull outta this…and you _let…him…down…_ I'm gonna be _pissed._ You've seen me pissed, haven't you, Parker? You don't want that, now, do ya? What would Nate say if he saw you slackin' like you're doin' now?'

He scowled and stabbed a forefinger at her. 'Look, all I'm sayin' is…you get your ass…outta this bed…and back to Headquarters where you belong. There's _jobs_ waitin', Parker. _Lots_ of 'em, and we need you. Lots more of that shiny stuff you seem to like…and… and dollar bills… hell, _hundred_ dollar bills. All stacked and banded just like you like ‘em. Interested now? So…so, get a move on, willya? Besides, I got somethin' of yours you're gonna want back.'

He released Parker's hand, laid it gently on the bed and turned away. He turned back to look at her one more time.

_'Come back to us, Parker.'_

Eliot spun again on his heel and left.

~

After filling his prescriptions Eliot took a cab back to check out the bar pub. It was still closed but habitable; Hazmat personnel had completed their sweep. Only a bit of barricade tape still remained. He tore it down and took the elevator up to Headquarters. 

The scrub suit he'd worn home from the hospital went into the trash; Eliot changed into the spare set of clothes he kept in his office. The bagged phone he'd retrieved earlier was shoved into his pocket; it held a vital number in its directory. He staggered a little, still coughing. He shook his head in irritation and grabbed the back of a chair. His balance was off and his blood pressure was jerking him around; he popped a fludrocortisone and washed it down with tap water. The fridge, sealed against the onslaught of four days ago, still held some of the Hacker's favorite orange soda. He would have a bottle of that with his pizza. Tapping his phone within its sealed bag, he ordered and paid extra for the kid to deliver within the hour. He ate quickly. 

After a brief rest, he called the airport and booked an overnight flight to Washington, DC. 

~

Hardison, released from the hospital later that same day, immediately went to see Parker. True to her word to Eliot, Mrs. Davis was there to lend moral support. 

'Don't let all this equipment frighten you, Mr. Hardison. She's stable. The doctor just left a short while ago and was satisfied with her progress. He thinks she'll recuperate in time. You look like you're about to drop, if you don't mind my saying. Let me get a chair for you.'

'Thank you, ma'am. You're very kind. Can…can I talk to her?'

'They tell us in nursing that people in a state of unconsciousness or in comas never lose their hearing. You don't think they know you're there because they're unresponsive, but they can hear you. Sure, you can talk to her. It'll do her all the good in the world. I'm going to leave you alone with her for a while. If one of those machines starts beeping, don't worry. I can hear it from the nurse's station. You just visit a while, then I'll send you home to rest. You need it.'

Hardison nodded, unable to speak because of the lump in his throat. He took Parker's hand, kissed it, and began humming the tune they had once danced to. If Parker could hear him, that would soothe her a lot better than him trying to speak through his tears. He knew he couldn't stay as long as he wanted - he had a job to do. 

Within the hour, Hardison was home, seated at his computer. With swift precision, he did what Eliot had asked of him. He called his friend, now high in the skies over Nebraska on his way to DC, and relayed the information. 

His job done, Hardison returned to the hospital to sit beside Parker every minute he was allowed, until his own doctor ordered him to go back home and get some rest or face being re-admitted. He went, reluctantly. 

~

Eliot withdrew sufficient cash at the airport ATM before he boarded the plane. Reclining comfortably in first class on his night flight to DC, he managed to stay awake until his cell phone vibrated. It was Hardison. 

'Hey, man. Talk to me.'

'I found Jean. She's on her way. That hunch you had? Damn straight, Eliot.'

Eliot grit his teeth in anger. _'Damn!'_ he said under his breath, but not quietly enough, for the child in the seat next to him looked up at him fearfully. A coloring book lay open on the little boy's tray; Eliot took a blue crayon, leaned over and handed it to the child with a gentle smile. 'Hey…it's ok.'

The child smiled back and began applying blue to a sun shining in the paper sky.

'Hardison?'

'I know, man, I'm sorry.'

'Listen, thanks - now get you some rest. See about Parker. I'll be back in a few days.'

'You haven't told me what…' Hardison looked at disconnected call on his phone in irritation. _Why does he always do that to me?_ he wondered. 

The muted noises of the plane's engines were lulling. Eliot carefully pocketed the bagged phone. Hardison, the partner and friend who had become more like a brother, had come through for him like he had so many times before. After the call, more fatigued than he was willing to admit, Eliot hunched against the window and slept on the plane for the rest of the flight; a little over five hours to DC. Upon arrival in the morning, he felt somewhat better. He rented a car and drove straight to George Washington University Hospital. 

He'd been right all along. Only one piece to the puzzle remained and he had a good hunch where he could find it. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!

**122 CONCORD SW WASHINGTON DC**

Everett Udall left the television in his room on with the volume turned up so that he could listen while he began preparations for yet another batch of ricin. With the cauldron again simmering on the stove, he stirred the beans for the base.

It was time for the next phase.

As he stirred, he recited from memory texts from the Overview and Guidelines for Federal, State and Local Officials he had read not long ago:

_'Mechanism of action…ricin inactivates ribosomes, shutting down protein synthesis and leading, in sufficient doses, first to death at the cellular level, then to tissue damage, and finally to multi-organ dysfunction and organism death. The ricin protein consists of an A and B chain. The B chain binds to cell surfaces allowing intracellular incorporation of the A chain, which enzymatically depurinates ribosomes that are active in protein synthesis.’_

Udall’s voice grew louder as he continued stirring.

_‘Exposure to ricin by inhalation is likely to cause a quicker onset of poisoning and a more rapid progression of illness compared to ingestion, given the same exposure amount. Early clinical symptoms of ricin poisoning are non-specific and may be hard to distinguish from a respiratory infection via inhalational exposure or gastroenteritis via ingestional exposure!'_

It was certainly exciting. The big spoon dipped and swirled through the mixture; clouds of steam wafted through the lab.

This was going to be as good as, if not better, than spreading the influenza virus among the populace. For one thing, castor beans were cheap and easy to procure. He wouldn't need eggs, pigs or uncooperative farmers. The process didn't take as much time. He didn't need to rely on the mail; he could plant pressurized bombs anywhere and be miles away when they went off…in supermarkets, churches, schools, anywhere large groups congregated. Like a sniper hidden in the brush, he could target the public without the need to immunize himself. Doctors were such idiots; they'd treat for bronchitis or some other respiratory infection, losing time and allowing the ricin to do its toxic work unimpeded. Such a shame people had to die in order to teach the government what needed to be done! He would remember them all as martyrs; their sacrifice would never go unacknowledged.

His age was telling on him; his shoulder joints were protesting the repetitive motion, but he ignored it. The mixture wasn't quite ready to set aside to cool. He had to keep stirring, stirring. He forced his mind to think of something else.

With _Leverage International_ out of the way, anything was possible. Udall admired them in a way. They'd made complete fools out of governmental _and_ law enforcement officials. Why, if not for them…

He stopped stirring a moment; the news was coming on. Udall turned the gas flame down, grabbed a towel and went into his room to listen. Surely by now they'd be covering the demise of the victims. He stood before the TV, drying his hands, eagerly anticipating. The newscaster was finishing up the first segment:

_‘…The White House spokesman had no further comment.’_

There was a short pause before the next segment.

_‘…Recently, outbreaks of ricin intoxication poisoning have been in the news; one person from Washington DC and three people from Portland, Oregon were attacked when packages received through the United States postal service detonated. Although two of the victims remain in serious condition, two have been successfully treated and all are expected to recover. The attack began several days ago when…’_

Udall's eyes widened in shock and anger. He dropped the towel he had been holding on a nearby table and picked up a coffee cup half filled with stale brown liquid. Raising it carelessly over his head with a shaking hand, spilling coffee everywhere, he hurled it viciously at the television screen. The set imploded with a loud pop. Glass shards struck the inside of the cabinet and bounced out onto the carpet. The anchorman's words played in his mind, again and again: …expected to recover…expected to recover!… _expected to recover?!_

_How could this be?_

~

Riley didn't bother knocking. He walked into the lab unannounced. Surveying the domain he had provided for Udall, he saw steam rising from the bubbling cauldron on the stove but no sign of the professor. He walked up the aisle between one row of glass-laden tables and the other, knocking this beaker over, sending that glass tube smashing to the floor, sweeping equipment off tables and escalating his destruction until Udall, still standing in shock before the shattered television, hurried from his room.

_'See here!'_ Udall protested.

'What? _What,_ Udall? You don't like me destroying your stuff? You don't like me breaking your equipment? You don't like me infringing upon your domain? You incompetent fool!'

'All right, so you heard! This doesn't mean I can't try again! In science there's always an alternative! Mercury is -'

'I'm not abetting any more of your science experiments, Udall. I was right about you. You're insane. You're too sure of yourself and you think yours is the only way. It's not. It's _my_ turn now and we're going to do things _my_ way.'

'Look, just because those four…'

'No! You're out of the picture! The only good idea you had was getting their money and I can do that without you. I'm hiring the necessary personnel for the Portland job. To hell with the agent - I don't need him.'

Udall persisted. 'But, Riley…

'Marco!' Riley yelled. The man was right outside the door, prepared to be the prissy little man's muscle should it become necessary.

'Yeah, boss?' Marco took a stance about a foot behind and to the side of Riley, threateningly rolling his shoulders, hands clasped at his belt.

Riley's cold eyes never left that of Udall's. Udall, helpless, defeated, had no choice but to concede.

'Get all this stuff out of here,' Riley ordered. 'We've gone out of the chemistry business and back to our old way of doing things.'

'Sure, boss… _'bout damned time,'_ Marco said under his breath.

Udall slipped back into his room and quietly closed the door. Outside, he could hear glass shatter. Metal clanged against the floor; tables were tipped over. The destruction of yet one more dream was almost more than Udall could bear. He sat at his table and took up his pencil but for once the blank sheet of paper did not speak to him. He could think of no alternatives; no solutions. He was back in a prison cell, silenced, impotent, no longer a threat to be reckoned with.

He refused to believe it.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!

**GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL, WASHINGTON DC**

Jean Vance gripped the steering wheel, focusing her tired eyes on the highway. She had so looked forward to this trip, seeing the folks, being with them at a crucial time when her mother was ill…and the entire trip was turning into a disaster. First her mother and now Mike! At least she had been with Mom when the test results came back, holding her mother’s hand in the doctor’s office as they got the news. Her mother was to report for surgery tomorrow morning and she couldn’t be with her because Mike was in the hospital with some mysterious ailment! 

Her father had helped allay her fears, assuring her that he would be there and the kids could stay with him while she went to see about her husband. There were no flights available and not enough money had there been, so she had decided to drive the nine hours back to DC. Driving just over the speed limit and stopping only for gas and a restroom, she made it in eight. Back in the city limits of DC at last, she bypassed her home and headed straight to the hospital. 

The first person she saw through the glass-walled ICU waiting room was Eliot Spencer. He came to greet her and enveloped his best friend's wife in a warm hug, holding her tight. 

'Eliot! You came all the way from Portland?'

'Took a night flight. Rented a car. He's my friend, Jean.'

'I know. Eliot, just what is going _on?_ What's wrong with Mike? That friend of yours who called me - '

'Come on, sit down, Jean. That was Hardison you spoke to. I told him not to tell you everything - not to worry you.'

'Well, that's all well and good, but not knowing is sometimes harder than _knowing!_ '

'This is… this is different.'

'You're saying…Mike is _dead?!_ '

_'No, no,_ Jean. He's in very serious condition, yes, but I just saw him and they told me he's showing improvement. Listen, have you heard the news reports? From the CDC?'

'I thought I heard something on the radio coming back, a poisonous chemical was sent through the mail or some such thing, people in Portland and right here in Washington…' Jean's eyes grew large. 'Wait…are you saying… Washington… that _Michael…?_ '

'Yeah.'

Jean sank down on a chair. 'Good God, who would _do_ a thing like this? Mike and those other poor people…'

'One of 'em was me,' he said, grinning wryly. He pushed his sleeves up and showed her his reddened arms. 

She looked at him, round-eyed, hopeful. 'Oh, Eliot! But…you're up and around. Then you're all right.'

'Not so fast, Jean. This is bad stuff. But…look, Vance minimized exposure as much as he could. The doctors are optimistic. It may be a long haul, but he's gonna pull through. Trust me.'

Jean dropped her head in her hands. 'If only I'd known _sooner!_ '

'Well… _he_ told them not to call you when it happened; he shouldn’t have done that. He just didn't want to worry you. _He’ll be all right,_ Jean.'

She looked up at Eliot. In the depths of his startlingly blue eyes she saw the truth. 'Thanks for telling me.' She sighed. 'Mike's overprotective. He thinks I can't handle adversity or that I should be shielded from it…'

'I'll have a talk with him.'

'You'd be wasting your breath,' Jean replied, smiling. Eliot smiled back. 

A nurse came into the waiting room. 'Michael Vance family?'

'Yeah,' said Eliot. 

'Follow me.'

The nurse led them through the double doors. Vance was in an isolation room immediately to the left. Eliot took Jean's arm to steady her. 

Vance lay with his head slightly elevated. A nurse was adjusting an IV drip while monitors and machines emitted a series of discordant beeps. The wall lamp above bathed 

Vance's mottled red complexion in harsh light. He seemed to be resting comfortably despite being hooked up to so much machinery. The respirator hissed and clicked. 

'Is…is he in a coma?' Jean asked. 

'No…just sedated,' answered the nurse. 'He wakes up every so often.'

Eliot stood vigil with Jean, thinking of what he, Vance and his partners had been put through, growing angrier by the minute. His brow furrowed deeper into its harshest lines. The nurse returned; the time allowed for the short visit was up. Eliot gently disentangled Jean's hand from her husband's and walked her back to the waiting room. He brought coffee and chatted with her until the next visitation period. Jean held her husband's hand the entire time, treasuring every second. She swayed on her feet, exhausted. 

‘Jean…’ 

'Yes, Eliot?'

'You're asleep on your feet.'

'No, really, I'm ok. 

‘Look, I know you wanna stay with him but you've been on the road all night. You need rest.'

Jean started to protest but he cut her off. 'Look, take this…’ he insisted, handing her a wad of bills, ‘and get a motel. You can't go home; your house is probably still quarantined.'

'Quarantined?'

'Ricin contamination, Jean. You don't want to end up here lying beside Vance, do you? So get some lunch and a room and get some sleep. I'll stay with him a while. Then when you're rested you can come back.'

Jean nodded. She bent to kiss her husband's forehead. Despite her worry; amid a situation she didn't fully understand, Eliot Spencer had given her some measure of relief. She would do as he asked. 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!

**WASHINGTON DC**

It was just past noon when Eliot escorted Jean to her car and watched her drive off. He cast a quick glance at the dark gray sky; solid cloud cover that blackened toward the northern horizon. Cool winds gusted; a storm was on its way. Eliot pulled his phone from his pocket, still sealed in both an evidence and a Hazmat bag, and punched up the directory. Selecting buttons through two layers of plastic, he managed to tap in the number. The phone rang three times before someone answered it. 

'Yeah.'

'Is that how you answer your boss's phone, Marco? Doesn't sound too professional.'

'Who in hell is this?'

'Call Riley to the phone. Now.'

'Well, who shall I say is calling?' Marco snapped facetiously. 

'Get him, Marco.'

In the background, Eliot heard a door open and slam shut, followed by footfalls. 

'Who is it?'

'Somebody says they know you, boss. Don't sound too happy.'

Riley took the receiver of the land line phone with some trepidation and waited for the caller to identify himself. 

'Still hanging with a terrorist, Riley?'

_Spencer._ Riley's blood ran cold. _Where was he? How much did he know? Damn Udall! He'd sworn he could get rid of the man. Damn you, Udall!_

'Well, well, well. Eliot Spencer. Long time no hear. How's the weather in Portland?'

'Fine,' Eliot said curtly. 'Say, Riley…remember about five years back…a terrorist hired you to cripple the infrastructure of DC. Two emergency service administrators and a FEMA director…all in one day. Remember? You were even gonna hire _me_ for one of those jobs.'

Riley stalled, trying to keep his voice steady. 'Well…yeah, but that's rather old news, isn't it? You said you were out of the game; hanging with a new crowd.'

'Yeah,' Eliot said, gauging the prissy little man's tone; a liar had distinctive voice inflections. 'Just wanted to know if you were hand in glove with him again. You tell him for me his little scheme failed.'

'I don't have a clue what you're talking about,' Riley persisted. 'But whatever it is, I suggest you tend to your business and let me tend to mine. Our association is over, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'Oh, I noticed, Riley.'

The line went dead. 

'Who was that, boss?' asked Marco. 

'Man used to work for me. Damned good hitter. Did any job I assigned, no questions asked. Apparently disgruntled about something.' Riley sighed and sat down at his desk. 'That basement cleaned out?'

'Some of it.'

'Get back on it, then.'

Riley shrugged off any concern. The Hitter was in Portland, too far away to be much of a menace…he'd be taken care of before long, anyway…

~ 

**122 CONCORD SW WASHINGTON DC**

Day became night as the storm commandeered the sky from horizon to horizon. Black clouds with tinges of purple, laden with water vapor, hovered over Washington, dropping the temperature and sending everyone scurrying for shelter. But the rain waited. 

Eliot left Vance in the care of the medical staff and turned his rented, black Camaro north in the direction of Riley's warehouse. 

In Riley's dark office, the surface of his desk was illuminated only by a small overhead lamp. Riley fidgeted over his ledger; the only sound in the quiet room was the scratching of his pencil. 

A sudden shadow fell over the book. Riley looked up. 

_'You,_ uh…you're _here._ ' Riley unconsciously leaned back, unnerved. He felt on the floor for the new switch that would activate the intercom to summon Marco. 

'Didn't expect me, didja, Riley?' Eliot leaned menacingly over the desk. 'I'm here to shut you down. And I want your partner. You know who I'm talking about. Where is he? Where is Udall?'

'Um…in uh, in the basement.'

'C'mon. You're gonna accompany me down there. I might get lost.'

Riley had a gun in his desk drawer but Eliot circled the desk too swiftly for him to retrieve it. Iron fingers gripped his collar, hoisted him out of his chair and dragged him painfully out from behind the desk and down the hall to the elevator. 

Riley fought panic. _Where in hell was Marco?!_

Eliot shoved the scrawny little man into the elevator, keeping a tight grip on his collar. 'Can't we talk about this, Spencer?' Riley whined. _'You used to work for me, for Chrissake!'_

The elevator doors opened. Eliot hauled Riley out of the elevator and into the ruined lab. As he glanced around the room, the size of the operation enraged him further. He snarled at Riley and shook the little man by his collar like a dog, loosening his glasses; Riley grabbed for them and replaced them on his nose. 

'Spencer, _please!_ '

A massive bolt of lightning flashed a brilliant white through the basement window, followed by an earth-shaking roll of thunder. The power failed, plunging the room into darkness. Riley mewled in terror as Eliot yanked him closer to speak into his ear. 'Call him. Get him out here.'

Riley nervously cleared his throat. 'Professor,' he called. Udall's door creaked open. 'Someone here to see you.'

Riley's cheek thwacked painfully against the floor. Marco had appeared at last, bringing both clenched fists down on Eliot's shoulder, dropping him and Riley both. Eliot lay stunned on the floor. Marco hauled his boss to his feet. 

'Thanks, Marco! When you're done here meet us at the van!'

'Yeah, boss!'

Eliot was soon up, both fists ready, dodging and weaving in the dark. While Marco was occupied with Eliot, Riley made for the door, crunching over broken glass as he went. Udall needed no invitation; he grabbed up his coat and hat and followed him, feeling his way, avoiding the two men battling in the center of the room. In the corridor, Riley punched the elevator button. And again. And again. It was a futile effort; the power outage had killed the elevator. 

'You'd think a man of your means would have a backup generator,' hissed Udall. 

'Shut up, Udall!'

The two men argued all the way up the stairs to the office. Riley took his gun from the desk, cleaned out his safe, stuffed everything in a bag, grabbed his hat and coat and led the way back down the stairs to the first floor. Riley's van was parked in the alley. 

'Who _was_ that? Why are we running? They can't track…' Udall said breathlessly as he climbed into the back seat of the van. 

'That guy personifies your incompetence, jackass! You didn't kill him so now he's after us. I've worked with him, Udall. He _doesn't quit_. He'll keep coming until…' Riley scrambled into the other seat after stowing his satchel in the back. . 'Best we just get out of here for now. We'll wait for Marco. That is, if Marco isn't…'

'And just what do we do if Marco _is_?' asked Udall sarcastically. 

Before Riley could answer, Marco yanked open the door to the van and vaulted into the front seat, panting and wheezing. He held one arm tight again his ribs and mopped his bleeding forehead with an oily rag lying on the passenger seat with the other. He glanced back at his passengers hunched on the backseat. 

'Boss?'

'Get us out of here, Marco!' Riley yelled, throwing the keys at him. 

The big man caught them, turned the key in the ignition and began driving down the alleyway to the main street. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!

**122 CONCORD SW WASHINGTON DC**

_Riley struggled to his feet. 'Marco! When you're done here meet us at the van!'_

_'Yeah, boss!'_

 

Eliot got to his feet, fists clenched, nostrils flared. With no emergency generator in the old building for backup, it was dark but for an occasional glow of lightning through the basement windows. The darkness wasn’t a concern; he could fight with his eyes shut. What bothered him was Marco’s size versus the dizziness, nausea and respiratory weakness that had continued to plague him despite his medication since the ricin incident. He would normally have taunted Marco, urged him on, dared him to engage; confident he could take him. Now he remained silent, using the quiet darkness as a weapon. He could smell the behemoth circling, could hear by his steps that he wasn’t sure exactly where Eliot was. 

Marco’s foot crunched broken glass; Eliot honed in and struck with a roundhouse to the big man’s abdomen, followed by a spinning back kick to his kidneys. The maneuver threw Eliot off balance. The big man grunted when struck; he caught Eliot’s extended leg and pulled, bringing his opponent closer for a strike to the face. Eliot caught the fist in his open hand, gripped and twisted, shoving him back. 

The big man caught himself and sprang forward again. The glow of lightning came through the narrow windows high on the wall, allowing Eliot to see and block a punch with his left arm and hit back with his right fist. Marco dodged the blow and struck Eliot square in the chest. He crouched and delivered a left then a right to Eliot's chin just as it went dark again; Eliot went over backwards with a bone-rattling thud but rolled swiftly out of the way as Marco attempted to fall on him, splitting his forehead open on the concrete floor in the process. 

Eliot staggered to his feet, trying to shake off the dizziness and the pain in his chest. He landed a strong kick to Marco's side and felt the ribs crack. Marco groaned and fell. Attempting to get up, his hand landed on a broken table leg. He gripped it and swung at Eliot's legs, knocking him off his feet. Coming to his knees, Marco, aiming blindly in the dark, raised the table leg over his head and brought it down with a resounding crack on what he thought was Eliot's head. 

Marco staggered to his feet. He dropped the table leg and groped toward the door, stabilizing the broken ribs with one arm pressed to his side. He didn't look forward to climbing those damned stairs. 

~

The power came back on. Eliot shut his eyes against its blinding light. He got to his feet slowly, staggering. He surveyed the room. Marco had gone. The remains of a metal and plastic cylindrical machine lay on its side, smashed; all that was left of Udall's air compressor. _That would have been my head if I hadn't rolled._ He made his way to the now operational elevator and punched the button, wheezing. _Quicker than the stairs,_ he thought. _Can't get enough air!_

It didn't take long to reach the first floor level. He stepped out of the elevator, and through the double doors at the side of the building, he could see a black van rolling down the long alley. He gritted his teeth and ran to his rented car parked out front. 

Eliot flung himself into the seat and hit ignition, lights and gear shift all at once. The tires squealed. 

The chase was on. 


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!

**WASHINGTON DC**

'Did you kill Spencer, Marco?'

'Yeah, boss,' Marco panted. 

'You're _sure!'_

'Yeah. How do you think I got _this?'_ Marco said, annoyed, waving the bloody rag at his boss. 

'All right then. Head south. Arlington.'

'Arlington? What's in Arlington?' asked Udall, mystified. 

'A route to South America. You don't want to go back to prison, do you?'

'Nobody can trace anything back to us! I'm sure of it!'

'I like how you're always _so sure,_ Emmett. Your victims survived. That means you have a G-man and a Hacker who will stop at nothing to get both of us. At least Spencer is out of the picture.'

'So what -'

'I have an accomplice in Arlington who has contacts. He can get us on a plane to South America; we can stay off the grid for a while. For all I know, that damned Hacker is looking up my skirt at this very minute.'

A clap of thunder and a flash of lightning seemed to stress the urgency of the situation. The rain that had hovered for so long fell at last, in torrential sheets that soon had the roads awash. Marco turned the wipers on full, wishing he could pull a deep breath but that son of a bitch had cracked two ribs. All he could do was concentrate on driving and try to tune out the arguments coming from the back. 

Udall was bewildered. _'South Am-…?_ I can’t do anything from South America!’ 

'You can’t do anything _here,_ either. You ought to be grateful I’m not throwing you to the wolves. Now shut the hell up, Udall, or I'll make Marco shut it for you!'

~ 

Two cars back, Eliot drove steadily, keeping the van in sight, mentally running through his options. _Requesting help from law officials. Not gonna happen._ He wanted these guys for himself, for Vance, for Parker, for Hardison…for all the people Udall intended to hurt. _Running them off the road. Not now. Too many witnesses._ That maneuver might take one, maybe two of them out. If not, maybe he could handle all three. _Riley was no problem; Udall was a force to be reckoned with as long as he had a gun in his hand. Marco was wounded, not as much of a challenge. If Udall didn't have a gun…_

The relentless rain played on the windshield like a fire hose. The van, traveling beneath the speed limit, casually turned south toward the freeway. Eliot followed. _Marco probably thinks he wasted me,_ Eliot thought. _He's driving like a carpool mom taking the kids to soccer practice…not to attract attention because he knows he's hauling a terrorist and an assassin. He needn't worry, there's no APB out…nobody knows about 'em but me…_

Several long-haulers came alongside, throwing up water from the pavement, effectively hiding the dark Camaro tailing the van. It was easy to follow; the left tail light flickered in the darkness. They had been traveling on the freeway about half an hour. Eliot decided to liven things up. He veered around the two cars ahead of him and began boldly riding the van's bumper. It sped up, swerved, took the next off-ramp, veered off 495 and caught Clara Barton Parkway, headed toward Virginia. 

Eliot gripped the wheel with one hand and dialed Riley's number with his thumb. 

'Hiya, Riley,' he said, grinning into the phone. 'Takin' a trip?'

He heard an agitated Riley berate his driver. 'So you killed Spencer, did you? This _is_ Spencer! He's following us!'

'Wait a minute, boss, I cracked his skull open! I figured that tail was FBI or the cops.'

Riley peered through the van's rear window. 

'FBI?! In a Camaro? You idiot! It's _Spencer!!'_

'Surprise,' said Eliot into the phone. 

'Well,' Udall smirked, almost laughing. 'You're blaming me for failing to get him and your own man does the same thing.'

'Shut the fuck up, Udall!'

Riley threw the phone at the professor; it clattered to the floor of the van beneath the seats. It was still transmitting; Eliot set his phone on the console, enjoying the scuffle. 

Riley took a swing at Udall. They grappled; falling over the back of the seat to the metal floor. The two men struggled in the rear of the van while Marco tried to hold the vehicle steady in the center of the parkway. Luckily, there was no traffic. There was a bridge about a mile up and he didn't want to miss it. It led to 120 South which would take them to Arlington. Riley's contact had a safehouse where they could wait until their flight was ready. As an accessory, he had as much reason to flee as the others. 

The two men struggling with each other in the back of the van rocked the vehicle from side to side. Eliot followed closely, riding the bumper. The phone, clattering beneath the back seat, still transmitted the sounds of the struggle within. Eliot grinned to himself, thinking they just might do themselves in and save him the trouble. The two vehicles sped down the long parkway. 

Riley spat curses at Udall, who, incredibly, was arguing with him against the plan to go to South America; he needed another lab, that was all; he could just switch to another method. Eliot listened in amazement as Udall talked of mixing tasteless ricin in processed sugar or salt to achieve his goal. _'I can still make the government listen!'_ he shouted. 

In the van, Marco was yelling at the two in the rear of the van to cool it. He slowed, watching for the bridge sign. Riley shoved Udall back hard; he landed on his back on the metal floor of the van, stunned. Riley saw his chance. He thrust a hand inside his satchel and brought forth his gun. Marco saw the bridge exit at the same instant and took a hard right that threw the two men to the opposite side of the van. Once the vehicle stabilized, Marco sped up. 

Chain Bridge took traffic over a section of overgrown scrub brush and small trees before it spanned the Potomac. The water level of this rocky section of the river, narrowing and running south from its source, was normally low; the heavy rain was swiftly swelling it. Rapids dashed against the rocks below and continued on south as the river widened toward Virginia Beach. 

Riley scrambled to his feet and aimed the gun at Udall. Marco was concentrating on driving as fast as he could through the downpour. The bridge had light posts along the way but they practically useless; Marco had his wipers on high speed but they couldn't sweep the deluge fast enough. He looked in his rearview mirror. The black Camaro followed like it was chained to his trailer hitch.

Suddenly, the van hit a patch of water, skidded and began hydroplaning, twisting this way and that. Inside, Riley's finger tightened on the trigger; he'd had enough of Udall and didn't need him along as baggage. The momentum of the twisting vehicle threw him off balance just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet went through Marco's head, killing the big man instantly. 

Eliot heard the shot. He braked the Camaro and rolled slowly, keeping the van in view. In the glow of his headlights and what little light was cast from the bridge lamps, it was almost like watching a movie as the van skidded right, left, then right again. Inside, the steering wheel turned hard right and Marco's body jammed itself against it, sending the vehicle into a roll. It clattered and crashed, tumbling obliquely. The windows shattered and the side door cracked open, spilling debris onto the roadway. The momentum launched the battered vehicle over the concrete walkway that ran alongside the railing. It punched through the metal rails, curling them outward. The headlights hovered for a microsecond like a small plane in midair before falling over fifty feet into the swollen current. 

Eliot inched the Camaro forward. A safe distance away, he set the brake and hazard lights and exited the car into rain that soaked him in seconds. Running to the edge of the bridge, he peered over the gaping hole in the railing. The van was upside down in the river, headlights momentarily flickering under water, then going out. The van rolled and tumbled as it was swiftly carried downstream. Udall and Riley never stood a chance. 

_Good._

Eliot threw his wet hair out of his eyes and scanned the bridge for oncoming traffic. There was none. He was probably the only idiot out in this downpour; sensible people were at home, warm and dry. He canvassed the debris on the bridge for evidence that could link him, Leverage or even Vance to anything that had happened. He kicked the toe of his boot at car parts, a bent jack, a tire iron and a sodden pack of cigarettes. A few pieces of clothing lay here and there, a sock and a shoe. Eliot picked up a man's wallet, a gun, a bulging satchel and Udall's golf cap. He stashed the wallet and satchel in the back of the Camaro, disassembled the gun and threw it into the deepest part of the raging current. He picked up all the debris he could find and consigned it all to the river. The damage to the bridge couldn't be hidden but by the time anybody investigated, the van would probably be halfway to the Atlantic, judging by the rate of the current. The bodies trapped inside were of no consequence; the van would hold them down until nature could claim them. Satisfied that there was nothing incriminating left on the bridge, he walked back to the hole in the railing. 

The Leverage team had again prevailed, triumphing over a thug, a terrorist and an assassin. The resolution had come almost like Deus Ex Machina; some unforeseen circumstance had solved his problem, an idea Sophie might have liked, wedded to the theater as she was. However it had come about, he was grateful. He hadn't been entirely certain he could take them all out, not feeling as rough as he did right now, but taking them out alone had been his only plan all along. They had hurt his friends, and damn it, nobody did that and lived. 

Eliot cast one last glance down at the swollen river. As a last gesture, he spit over the side of the bridge. 'Good riddance,' he growled. He squeezed his wet hair back behind his ears and walked shakily back to the Camaro. He turned it around and headed back to DC. He had just one more thing to do. 


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!

**WASHINGTON DC**

It was late afternoon. The storm front still hovered, making it dark as midnight. The wet streets were deserted as Eliot sped away from the warehouse. Five blocks down, he heard a muffled **_foomp-foomp-foomp_** as the old building rattled with explosions. 

_Consider it my gift to DC,_ he thought, _that dilapidated old barn should have been torn down decades ago and nobody can use that equipment ever again. As Parker kills influenza with fire, I kill ricin._ As a former demolitions expert, Eliot had exploited the building's condition to best advantage. An old building out of code; a gas leak; faulty wiring; it was an accident waiting to happen. 

What had to be done had been done. He was still in DC and the only thing holding him in DC now was Vance. He wanted to go by and see his old friend before he left for home to check on Parker and Hardison but for now he was spent. 

Eliot turned back south and held the Camaro steady on the freeway; the heater turned all the way up. He was miserably wet and cold; his entire body ached; his blood pressure was dropping and his eyes burned, yet despite this and overwhelming fatigue, he felt elated. He wearily rolled his shoulders and whipped his neck from side to side. He'd take the same advice he'd given Jean and get a motel. There was one up ahead - an old-fashioned mom-and-pop type establishment, one with separate little cabins, all different colors. You didn’t see much of these anymore; they were a dying breed. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but he didn't feel up to walking through lobbies and riding elevators in anything fancier and he was too tired to drive further. He turned the Camaro into the parking lot. Once he’d registered, he could simply drive right up to the door. The old man on night duty looked askance at his bedraggled customer but shrugged, giving him an old-fashioned key on a plastic tag that read _Bungalow#7_ and, thoughtfully, an armful of extra towels. Eliot thanked him. 

The room smelled slightly musty but seemed clean and comfortable. He retrieved everything from the car, wearily dropped the items on the floor and turned the heating unit all the way up. The cabins might be old but they were well-insulated; within minutes, the small room was warm. 

He laid aside the things he picked up off the bridge and sorted through his own bag. There was a change of clothes for tomorrow morning. He'd have a big breakfast to make up for tonight's missed meal, look in on Vance and Jean, return the car and book a flight home. For now, a hot shower and a long sleep between fresh sheets sounded like the best thing in the world. He stripped, hung his wet clothes on the towel racks and stepped into the hot shower. He placed his palms against the shower wall and stood beneath the steaming spray for many minutes. 

It was done. 

That’s what he had told Hardison back then when this all started. He needed that powerful brain to help him get Udall; Hardison never let him down. _You know if I lay my hands on him, it's done. Get me to him._ It hadn’t quite worked out the way it was supposed to back then - Udall was taken away in handcuffs and Eliot had limped away in the arms of his friends, disdaining the crutch the EMT gave him - but it was certainly done now – and without Eliot so much as touching him. 

_Huh._

After his shower, Eliot rested, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a towel, drying his long hair with another. Nate and Sophie crept into his mind. It had been a long time since he'd spoken to his old boss. Somehow he needed to hear Nate's voice, needed to tell him what had gone down, maybe even get his stamp of approval. _No,_ he thought. 

_Well, why the hell not? Parker had said they were in, what, Paris? It would be the next day in Paris, about 1 or 2 in the morning._ Eliot hoped Nate wouldn't mind a call that late - or that early, depending on what was going on with them. He dialed Nate's number. 

The phone rang five times before Nate picked up; answering with a groggy 'Yeah.' He'd been asleep. 

'Hiya, Nate. Sorry I woke you.'

'Eliot? I'll be damned, how'ya doin'?'

'Fine. Everything's fine. Everyone's ok.'

Nate leaned up on one elbow. He glanced at the opposite side of the bed. Sophie was a soft lump under the thick duvet, sound asleep. Nate rubbed his face and spoke softly to avoid waking her. 

'Y'know, some way or another, I hear a **_now_** in your voice.'

'Huh?'

'Like everything's ok **_now_**.'

Nate always could read between the lines, especially with his Hitter. 

'Yeah. Yeah, it is,' Eliot answered. 

'You comin' off a job?'

'Yeah.' Eliot sat with his forehead resting on his hand, eyes closed, listening to Nate's good, familiar voice. In Paris, Nate stared quizzically at the phone in his hand. 

'Eliot?'

'Yeah.'

'So what was the job?'

'Well…you remember that terrorist nutcase we took care of in DC a few years back? Ya'll were workin' on that art heist job. 

'Yeah. Yeah, uh, he was spreading influenza, right?'

'Right.'

'That was some good work, Eliot. Damned good work. You spilled some blood on that one.'

'Yeah. Well, too much to tell you over the phone; I'll send you an email. Go back to sleep.'

Nate raised his eyebrows. 'The hell you will, you've got my attention now. Tell you what...let me go get some coffee and you fill me in, ok?'

'OK…'

Nate padded to the kitchen with the phone to his ear, prepared a cup of instant coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. He listened as Eliot relayed the basics of what had gone down, about Parker, Hardison, and Vance; the wreck at the bridge. 

'It's done, Nate.'

'Good. Good. I knew you’d take care of things. I knew you'd take care of them.’ Nate paused, chuckling. ‘Now, I don't know if you'd call it a twist of fate or what, but you ended up doing the same damned thing _I_ did, didn't you? Took two bad guys down and kept your hands clean doing it.'

' _Huh._ You're right. I'd forgotten that.'

'Appreciate you keeping me in the loop, Eliot. I miss the gang, but me and Sophie, you know, we're not getting any younger. She's asleep or I'd let you talk to her.'

'Are ya happy, Nate?'

'As an old farmer might put it, happy as pigs in slop.' Nate chuckled and took a sip of coffee. 'How about you, uh, are you on the mend?'

'Just about. Hardison’s out of the hospital. As for Parker and Vance, they're still in. I’ll send you an update.'

'Good. Listen, tell ‘em I'm thinking of ‘em; that we both are. Keep me posted. I know, uh, effects from something like that are tough to shake.'

'Will do.'

'I've left Leverage in good hands. Proud of ya. Tell my team I'm proud of them. Take care of yourself. Talk to you later, Eliot.'

'Bye, Nate.'

Eliot turned his phone off to save the battery. He couldn't charge it until it was cleaned. He felt better, not physically, but at peace with himself, settled in his heart and in his mind. Nothing he'd done tonight could be traced to the team. He had meted out a little justice and, if he was honest with himself, a lot of vengeance. 

He took the plastic wrap off the cup sitting by the empty ice bucket, filled it at the tap and knocked back a couple of capsules. One was for pain and would help him sleep; the other for his blood pressure. He let the damp towel drop to the floor, stacked the pillows and leaned wearily back on them. He turned off the bedside light, reached for the TV remote and flicked it on. 

The light from the clunky old-school television was the only illumination; the sound would lull him to sleep. The last tenant had left the channel on local news. Eliot listened to it, his reddened eyes closed, his tired muscled aching, waiting patiently for the pain meds to kick in. 

The weatherman in the last segment of the program reported the massive storm front moving away. In the last few minutes, the anchor redirected a breaking story to a reporter in the field. Eliot slit open one eye to catch the last few seconds of the late night report: 

_'A massive fire is under control at 122 Concord Road, a partially abandoned warehouse, where firefighters had earlier battled a two-alarm blaze. Explosions emanating from the building were heard about five o'clock this evening. The fire had already destroyed most of the structure by the time firefighters arrived. Fortunately, the building was vacant; no one was injured in the blaze, though the building appears to be a total loss. No other buildings in the area were damaged. A HazMat team responded to the scene, as firefighters believe hazardous materials were stored inside the building; reports are that pieces of laboratory equipment were found. Officials suspect a faulty fusebox and wiring that was not up to code sparked a gas leak. We will bring you more details on this story as they become available. Back to you, Ron.'_

_The anchor tied it up. 'Thank you, Mike, for that report. That's all for tonight; thank you for watching. This has been Channel 7 News, goodnight.'_

Eliot didn't hear the rest; he was lightly snoring. His medications had kicked in at last. 


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!

**GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL, WASHINGTON DC**

Jean Vance entered the hospital room bearing two steaming styrofoam cups of coffee. She handed her husband one and set the other on his nightstand. 

'I don't know how many more cups of their coffee I can stand, Mike,’ she said jokingly. ‘You gotta get well and get out of here.'

‘Hey, I feel one hundred percent. I may not look it but I do,’ he said, grinning. He displayed the one arm not tied to an intravenous drip. The hideous reddish hue still clung to his fair skin. ‘I bet I'm out of here before the end of the week.’ 

‘I don’t know, honey…the doctor said you were going to need oxygen therapy and maybe even hemodialysis if your kidneys start acting up again. I want you to listen to him, Mike! You're not indestructible!’ 

‘Aw, you can be such a drama queen. I’m just peachy.’ Vance winked at his wife and her irritation melted. She grinned at him. 

Jean changed the subject. ‘It was good to see Eliot again, wasn't it?’ 

‘You saw him; I never laid eyes on him. Can't believe he came all this way just to see me. Was he all right? Did he make it back to Portland ok?'

'Yeah, he called. He’s doing pretty good, says his friends are recovering.'

'Did anybody ever find out for sure who did this; who sent those letters? I had my suspicions, but…'

'No, not to my knowledge. The papers were full of what happened to you guys but they never said who did it. I haven't heard anything else. I guess there's an investigation going on, I don't know. The FBI certainly wouldn’t be sending me bulletins, and I've been too busy taking care of a very stubborn man to care about any of it. Hey, don’t look so disheartened. You're on paid medical leave for six whole months! If I were you, I'd let the well-oiled machine run for a while without you.'

'Yeah…’ Vance sighed. ‘Maybe I'll find out later what happened. God, what a mess. Only one thing went right this whole week and that was your mom. Sure am glad she’s gonna be ok, honey.'

'Yeah, me too. They got it all but the doctor thinks a round of chemo will cinch the deal. She'll be in remission. Still needs to get checked every five years, but it looks good.'

'Damn, if it hadn't been for me you could have been with her.'

'If it hadn't been for you, Michael Vance, I could have done a lot of things,' she rejoined. 'Shut up and drink your coffee!'

'You _do_ want me to die, don't you?' he kidded, sipping the bitter brew. 

Jean gently slapped his shoulder. 'Listen, Dad's going to bring the kids to see you as soon as Mom's sister comes to stay with her.'

'Good…the faster we get back to normal the better I'll like it. Have you had any word on the house?'

'A registered letter from the CDC came here yesterday. It's in my purse…it says the house has been cleared. All cleaned. That's exactly what I wanted, to come back to a perfectly clean house.'

'Ah, the things I do for my woman,' he said, by way of a joke. 

'You didn't have to do it that way Mike… _not that way_...' Jean broke down sobbing. 

Mike dropped his cup into the trash can and took his wife in his arms. 


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old nemesis is back!
> 
>  
> 
> Author's Note: This has been a six-month labor of love for my favorite character in any television show I've ever seen. I've researched, struggled, laid it aside for weeks, gotten writer's block, and experienced everything a paid writer would, including sweating bullets of blood. I hope it makes sense, there are no blatant plot holes, and that you like it. I want to thank Rofire for her invaluable help and for Cyndie, who encouraged me. It's with a great sense of accomplishment...and a sense of great grief as well...that I post the last chapter. Enjoy!

**EPILOGUE**

Dedicated to Cyndie

  


**LEVERAGE HEADQUARTERS PORTLAND, OREGON**

_Six weeks later_

  


The beer pub, that reliable fallback investment, was open again and business was brisk. That was good, because the jobs the team usually took on were going to be relegated to a back burner until they all felt a hundred percent again. 

Eliot, after returning from DC, was still on fludrocortisone and so was Hardison. Parker was improving day by day. She was still under a doctor's care and getting respiratory therapy and dialysis; according to her doctor, it would continue for about six months. After that, if there was no improvement they could talk kidney transplant. Hardison didn't like the sound of that, but was assured that it would only be a worst case scenario; Parker was otherwise most definitely on the mend. The outcome of the ricin intoxication incident would have been much worse but for Eliot's swift action. 

'The faster you get supportive therapy going, the better the outcome,' said the doctor, praising the Hitter. 'Nice going, son.'

'Thanks for coming, Doc,' said Eliot. 

'Yeah, and for all the equipment for Parker, and the nurse… _thanks, man,_ ' Hardison said sincerely, double-gripping and shaking the doctor's hand. 

'Hey, I owe you guys for what you did for _me_ that time! Anything I can do to help, you just ask. Mrs. Jones will take good care of her. You guys still have some recuperating to do, yourselves. I expect you to do it.'

'Sure, Doc. Listen, get you a beer downstairs - and anything on the menu - on the house,' said Hardison. 

'Think I will,' said the doctor. 'Thanks.'

Parker was asleep; the two men went downstairs to the kitchen. Eliot wanted a beer, but he poured himself a coke, swirled the ice in the glass with his finger, tasted it and shrugged. _A little won't kill me,_ he thought, and added a capful of Gentleman Jim. 

Hardison took an orange soda from the fridge and twisted it open. They sat drinking a while. 

'You went after him, didn't you? Alone.'

Eliot nodded, staring at his glass. 

'You get him?'

'Yeah, Hardison, I got him. Well, actually, no. But…yeah.'

'OK, that's not confusing at all. Hope you'll tell me about it sometime.'

'Sometime,' the reticent Hitter replied. 

'Well, since you ain't gonna tell me _your_ adventures, I'll tell you _mine._ I got a chance to be a hero and you weren't even here to _see_ it!'

'No kiddin,' man? What'd you do?'

'I got to looking around and hacked into Riley's _company_ records…' Hardison held up his fingers in a 'quote' gesture. 'They were coded but I cracked it. Well, turns out he sent one of his own guys out here to _get_ us - all of us. See, he thought you were here. He didn't know you were in DC.'

'Huh. So what happened?'

'Came into Parker's hospital room the day after she got out of the ICU and there's this guy standing by her bed. Wasn't no doctor, neither; wrong kind of shoes. He had a syringe in his hand and he was just about to stick it into the IV port and I grabbed him before he could do it. Dragged him out of there, down the hall and into the stairwell. That chokehold you taught me came in handy, man. I sent him rolling down the stairs. Thought he was dead but he got up and ran out the exit. Never saw him again after that. I wasn't gonna take any chances so I hired a bodyguard for Parker while she was in the hospital and one for the bar pub just in case.'

'Dude, that's fucking _awesome!'_

Eliot and Hardison exchanged a slap-slap-punch. 

'Man, I didn't know I had it in me!' exclaimed Hardison. 

Eliot grinned at him. 

'Mind telling me one thing?' asked Hardison. 

'What.'

'What happened to all our stuff?'

Eliot's expression went as blank as a poker player's. 'What stuff?'

'Our _stuff!_ They took all our stuff, remember? My watch and phone and I think I had a necklace, and whatever you had on ya, and oh, man, I know damn well they took Parker's _ring!_ Now, how the hell am I gonna find her another one she likes as much?'

'Hell, man, I been in DC. How would I know?' Eliot calmly took a sip of his whiskey-flavored coke. 

'You don't think it's being held as evidence, do ya?'

'Dammit, Hardison, how can I possibly know what's going on 2300 miles away? You oughta be able to tap y'little keyboard and find out for yourself!'

'Wait. Why would they be holding evidence if you got the guy? There's no defendant. No defendant, no trial. What would they need with evidence? Oh, wait, they don't _know_ you got the guy. Right? For all they know he's out there walking around. Right?'

‘Guess so.’ 

‘So…help me out here, Eliot. That still leaves what happened to our stuff. Where is it? How can we reclaim it? Who has it?'

A horrifying idea occurred to Hardison. _'Aw, no.'_

'What's the matter?'

'Damn, man, that white shit was all over it. I remember now, I saw 'em bag it. Damn it all to hell. Parker's ring's in the landfill. Or incinerated…'

'Maybe.' Eliot sipped his drink, enjoying Hardison's drama. 

'Damn! I _liked_ that watch! And Parker’s ring, man…you don’t know what I went through to get that…’ Hardison sounded like he was about to cry.’ 

_OK, enough was enough._ 'Finish your soda, Hardison. I'll be right back.'

Eliot slid off the stool and went upstairs to his office. When he came back he was carrying a small case. He set it down in front of Hardison. 

'What's this, man?'

'Open it.'

Hardison's eyes bugged in disbelief. Everything was there; watch, jewelry, phone and one very important engagement ring tucked into a tiny ziplock bag. 

'Wait…how did you…wasn't this stuff contaminated?'

'It _was._ '

'So how – is it safe to touch it now?'

'Yep. I know a guy. Cleaned it all for me. Don't worry, it's safe.'

'But Eliot…not that I ain't grateful to have it all back, man, but this…how did you…man, I know how the system works, there’s a _chain of command_ for evidence…' 

'Guess so.'

'Do I have to break your arm to get you to tell me how you got all this?'

'Boy, I'd pay to see _that,_ Hardison.'

Hardison just stared at him, bugging his eyes even wider. 

'Look, let's just say Parker's a damned good thief but she ain't the only one we got on the team and leave it at that.'

Hardison grinned at him and raised his soda bottle to Eliot's glass for a light tap. 

Parker's nurse called from the stairway. 'The young lady would like to see you.'

Eliot and Hardison looked at each other, grinning. 'C'mon, Hardison. You can put it back on her finger.'

Parker, looking much stronger, awake and alert, lay propped against several pillows. An oxygen tank stood nearby, along with a portable dialysis machine and a blood pressure monitor. 

She smiled at her partners as they came through the door. 

'Just a few minutes,' the nurse instructed Eliot and Hardison. 'She needs rest more than anything else.'

'We know,' they chimed in unison. 

'Hardison, stay there a minute. I want to talk to Eliot first,' Parker said. 

'Okay, Babe. I'll be right outside.'

'Don't go far.'

'I won't.'

Eliot pulled up a chair close to Parker's bed. 

'I just want to ask you something.'

'What, Parker?'

'I did what you asked. I'm _here._ Now, what is it you have of mine? _I want it back!'_

THE END


End file.
